


Cowboys and Real Estate Angels

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Cowboy Dean Winchester, Dean in Panties, Fluff, M/M, Making Love, Minor Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Music, Musician Dean Winchester, Panty Kink, Post-Coital Cuddling, Real Estate Agent Castiel, Religion, Rodeos, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel crosses paths with the ever-charming Dean Winchester at a rodeo show in Texas, of all places. Dean's singing days are long bygone, but his crowd-pleasing skills haven't waned one iota. Unexpectedly, Castiel finds himself in Dean's bedroom; they take and they give, and discover that sometimes strangers can find love like this, too. (And if a man's faith can't be put in God, it needs to go somewhere...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cowboys and Real Estate Angels

**Author's Note:**

> One theme within this story was inspired by [this](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/45175772505/luciferotic-celestetsukino).  
> I was trying to write that _other_ fic, and got very distracted. My thanks to [thepanicmoon](http://thepanicmoon.tumblr.com) for perpetuating this distraction. (Also my thanks to [Ash](http://novakette.tumblr.com), but to call it perpetuation is debatable. More like extensive provocation.)
> 
>  **Warnings:** Apparently this fic might inspire some second-hand embarrassment. I'm somewhat oblivious to that, my apologies.

  
_I'm not sure why her path crossed mine_  
_Accident or grand design_  
_Maybe God just kinda likes_  
_Cowboys and angels_  
**— Dustin Lynch, ‘Cowboys and Angels’**  


One truck stop was much the same as another, and Castiel had been through plenty of them in the past few days. He grabbed his protein bar and bottle of chilled spring water without much thought, thumping them carelessly down onto the checkout. The slick-haired kid on the other side of the desk didn’t look bothered by Castiel’s indifferent stare, just went right ahead and rang up the items.

Castiel sighed as he waited for the machine to grind out its calculations. Four dollars fifty, he could do it in his head. He dug the change out of his pocket, picking through the chewed gum and pocket lint.

He was a day away from home. If he drove through the night, he’d be back in Kansas by the morning. But as he stacked the coins onto the tabletop, sliding them across just as the kid read out his total, Castiel realised what he’d honestly known for a very long time. He didn’t _want_ to go home.

He had an appointment tomorrow evening, a young couple looking to purchase their first house. He was staring down the barrel of a pile of paperwork, with a smile on his face as he offered them ‘the best deal they’d ever see’. The younger ones were easier to manipulate.

He liked the road, even though it got monotonous after a while. But it was no more monotonous than his usual life. He didn’t want to go back to that, because just as much as he didn’t like home, he didn’t like the person that lived there.

“Sir, is there something else I can help you with?” the kid asked, his sagging eyes staring dolefully at Castiel.

“What,” Castiel said, blinking.

The kid gestured at the shop behind Castiel. “You gonna buy something else, or are ya just gonna stand there?”

Castiel glanced at his bought items. Beef jerky and water wouldn’t keep him awake all night. He shouldn’t drive; he was pretty out of it. He could stick around for a night, couldn’t he?

“Sir.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll take a coffee. To go.”

The kid turned his head to eye Castiel as he slipped off his stool and leaned forward over the desk. “Machine’s over there.” He pointed at a blocky, colourful thing that Castiel had passed twice already, on his way into the shop, then on the way to the checkout.

“Right.” Blinking, Castiel walked to the machine and flicked on the buttons. Cappuccino. Okay.

“Dude, _cup_.”

“What?”

Castiel found himself shoved out of the way as the kid shoved a paper cup under the stream of coffee that started pouring into the tray.

“Jeez, you drunk or something?” the kid snapped, turning around with raised eyebrows.

Castiel swallowed empty air. “Just distracted.”

The machine gurgled as it filled the cup, spitting out a foam to top the drink.

“I’m no expert, but―” the kid scoffed, thumbing at the machine over his shoulder, “I wouldn’t trust you to drive my sister’s plastic scooter.”

Castiel rubbed at his temple, blinking hard. “No. No, maybe you’re right.”

The kid blew a short, sharp raspberry, which Castiel frowned at but said nothing about.

“Here,” the kid said, his voice a little less harsh. “Take some time out, there’s a motel park down the road.”

Castiel nodded, not really having any intention to visit a motel.

“Look,” the kid’s voice came again, and Castiel found himself compelled to look him in the eyes this time. For someone young, he had quite a sternness about him. “I don’t wanna be the maker of the next man who drives himself off the interstate, you hear me? Take your coffee, take your other shit―” Castiel stood there as the kid went to grab his other items, shoving them into a carrier bag, before returning to Castiel’s side and shoving its handles into his hands, “and take a _nap_.”

Castiel nodded once more, a little more convinced this time. He wasn’t _that_ tired, but felt put-upon to continue behaving in a dopey way, now he clearly had the kid on his side. He was aware of his little outwardly-manipulative demons crawling around all over him.

With another handful of coins thrust in the kid’s direction (possibly with lint attached), Castiel grabbed a paper cup protector and a lid for his coffee.

As he stood there fiddling with the lid, trying to get it to pop on, his eyes drifted to a stand of full-colour glossy leaflets beside the machine. They showed photograph of a man on a bucking horse, cowboy hat flying off his head. The header read _Gabriel’s Texas Cowboys_ , in a generic Wild West font. A sticker was pasted over the second half of the word ‘Cowboys’, declaring the show to be local.

“This any good?” Castiel muttered, nodding at the leaflets.

“Gabriel’s show? Yeah. Winchester’s the best ride in the state, my mom swears it.” Castiel heard a chuckle, before the kid added, “But I’m not sure she’s talking about how good he is with the horses.”

Castiel managed to crack a smile at that. With the coffee lid safety secured, he picked it up and wondered how long it would be before it was cool enough to drink. It was already heating his hand.

With a sigh, and a brief consideration, he turned around and pinched a single leaflet, flicking it so it slipped inside his carrier bag alongside his water and protein bar.

“There’s a show on tonight,” the kid said, as a parting offer.

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, backing out of the glass door using his shoulder. “Have a nice day.”

He didn’t bother with a motel. He drove out of the truck stop, got as far as fifty feet, before he pulled into the shoulder and cranked the handbrake. He didn’t need sleep, he needed a distraction. He was just bored.

Sipping his coffee (bland but palatable), he dug in the bag and found the leaflet. The cowboy on the front had to be a stock photo, the image was about as traditional as any. As he sank back in his seat and flipped down the sun shield over his eyes, blocking out the evening glare, Castiel turned the thick paper over. Show dates, names of the competitors.

He ran his eye down the list, barely paying attention - until he spied one name that seemed to leap out of the page at him.

 _Dean Winchester_.

“I’ll be damned,” Castiel muttered, before he inhaled another sip of coffee and winced as it coursed a line of lava down his throat. He mind was made up, then.

With the coffee in the cup holder and the bag thrown into the mess of burger wrappers on the passenger seat, Castiel indicated his rejoining of the road’s occupants, and followed the interstate until he saw where he was heading. Just a short journey, logically signposted.

He pulled into the summer-dry field and parked alongside fifty other cars, mostly Ford pickups and busted old notchbacks. Everything was dusty, so his Chevy fitted in nicely with the crowd. From what he saw of the people wandering past, their plaid shirts and cowboy hats turned orange in the low sunlight, his suit and overcoat might be a bit out of place.

He ducked his head and checked his hair in the wing mirror. At least he looked presentable.

Sighing, he leaned back and tried to relax, slurping at his coffee, which was now the perfect temperature. His tongue was burned, but he could feel it healing already. He’d barely notice the singe by tonight.

He popped open the lid of his coffee and used a finger to wipe up the foam, tipping it into his mouth. The foam was the best part. He washed the coffee down with water, chewing on the protein bar.

He took it slow. Winding down. Working up. _Something_.

He was nervous.

Dean Winchester was here.

Castiel had never met him, but the number of fantasies where they’d met had to total somewhere in the low hundreds. He’d practically been Castiel’s guide, helping to get him through his teenage years. Mentally, religiously... sexually. Castiel gulped, actually feeling a blush heat his shirt collar.

But they were both grown men now. Thirty years old. Castiel could damn well go up and say hi to the man who’d meant the world to him at one point. He still had a warm nostalgic feeling just at the name, but it came differently to him now. It could be a reality.

There was little point in imagining a scenario where they’d meet tonight. It would all be dashed to pieces, in any case. Nothing could happen in any way he might expect.

With a deep breath, Castiel climbed out of his car, locked it, stashed the key in his overcoat, and began to follow the thin crowd.

The setting sun was at his back, a hand’s width from the mountains on the horizon. The smell of cotton candy filled the air, as well as pizza and fried potato. Whoops of laughter echoed from the mid-distance, children running excitedly between the wide lines of parked cars. Even the children had a colourful cowboy hat each, and Castiel definitely felt like he’d misplaced some logic when he’d decided to drive through Texas without one in his trunk.

The scattered people made their way towards a shack of a building, a hanging sign wafting in the wind just outside, its title the same as on the leaflet. A man’s voice shouted from the entrance, business-like, but Castiel was too far away to make out his words.

He joined the line, looking around him. He mostly saw young-to-middle-aged Caucasian people, faces tanned from the sweltering sun of the day. Sweat began to trickle down Castiel’s back as that very same sun caused him a certain amount of grief. Texas was no place for a coat.

Slinging the coat over his arm, he dragged his hand across his forehead, jostled slightly by the few rowdier teenagers in the line, pock-marked skin and cracked lips meeting Castiel’s eye. He didn’t really know what he was heading into, but it was apparently quite popular.

“Tickets, tickets please,” came that business-like voice, and Castiel’s shoulders slumped, realising he probably needed to have pre-booked. With a wince as his shoes were stepped on, he edged out of the line and backed up to the wooden shack everyone was passing on the way through the saloon-style gates.

He walked sideways until he was in open air again, grass scruffed so low under his feet that it was no more than dust. Looking around, he squinted at the crowd, his eye following the line back―

Ah, there was a place where it broke off, and swept into a second line. Muttering apologies to the people he had to squeeze past, turning his face away from a tall, portly man who blew tobacco smoke in his eyes, Castiel made it to the other side of the line. Taking a deep breath, holding tight to his coat, he went to join the second group of people, who stood patiently, facing a kiosk clearly marked ‘Tickets’.

He queued up, like he belonged there. Trying to blend in. Trying to _not_ think about who he might get a chance to see in person.

He made the front desk, then um’d and ah’d until the woman there flicked a finger at the board behind her, notifying him of the ticket prices.

“One adult, please,” he said, slightly relieved.

“Cash or credit.”

Blinking himself into gear, he patted his pockets down, then had to flip his coat upright to rummage in the breast pocket for his wallet. He bundled everything back over his arm as he grabbed for his credit card, shooting the blasé-faced woman an apologetic smile.

He payed, took his ticket, and backed away from the kiosk with another relieved puff of air. He wasn’t usually this disoriented.

He followed the first crowd again, the group having dwindled significantly since he’d first gotten lost among its people. The man at the door clipped his ticket and grumbled an instruction for where to go. Castiel nodded, did as he said, finding himself in a dry square of space as soon as he was through the doors.

The sunset-coloured sky bathed the corral in warm light, the floodlights switched off for now. A blank screen was set up on the far side of the rodeo arena. Its whiteness was stark and strange against the blooming flowers of the falling sun, which radiated heat from the left, over the makeshift low fences of the rodeo company’s advertisements.

Bleachers were set up along the right, their metal seats rich with the colours of the audience’s clothes, cowboy hats varying in shape and hue just as much as the shirts. Castiel edged into the second-lowest row of seats, thankful to everyone who stood up to let him past. He saw that some people had signs, declaring their love for the cowboys. Castiel loved a cowboy now and then too, but he wasn’t as outgoing as to hold up a sign that shouted it out to the world.

He cleared his throat and sank down into an empty section of seating, smiling politely at the slim blonde woman on his right, and the very large black woman on his left.

“You new here, honey?” the black woman asked immediately.

“Just passing through,” Castiel explained. “Dean Winchester’s going to be here tonight, I heard.”

The woman laughed. “He’s always here. The worst he ever got was a broken leg, and he was back in the saddle in a month. Some kind of bronco miracle, that boy.” She said it fondly, like she knew him personally. Castiel would have asked as much, but this was a small town; everyone probably knew everyone, and even if they didn’t, they probably talked as if they did.

“I’m Castiel Norton,” he said, offering a hand sideways to the woman.

“Missouri Moseley,” she replied, with a soft smile. “If you’re here to see Dean and only Dean, you might be disappointed.”

“Oh?”

“He only does one round. Some idea along the lines of, he’ll last longer if he only puts in a _little_ appearance, but hell, he’ll make it a good one.” Her eyes shone as she nodded, her accent a noticeable drawl that rounded nicely.

“A little appearance would be enough,” Castiel smiled.

“Aaah.” Missouri beamed, her sound drowned slightly by the cheer that went up as someone spoke on an overhead microphone. “You’re one of those old ones, aren’t you?”

“I am?”

“One of _those_. You remember him from his old days.” She pursed her lips. “He was a goofy-lookin’ kid, I’ll never understand what all those girls saw in him.”

“So it _is_ the same Dean,” Castiel said, his smile showing his teeth this time. He ignored the voice on the overhead, leaning closer to add, “The Dean Winchester of Heaven Falling?”

Missouri clucked, petting Castiel’s thigh and rumpling his trousers. “The very same.”

Castiel’s heartbeat was in his throat now, excitement thrumming in his body like a hive of bees. “When will he be out here?”

Missouri shrugged. “Who knows? He usually comes on before or after Benny.”

“How will I know when Benny’s up?”

“Oh, honey. Listen to Gabriel.”

Castiel was about to ask more questions, but followed her gesture to the air around him and took the time to listen. The crowd pattered with cheers, the smell of beer and candy mulling around in the sticky air. Insects buzzed where the floodlights flashed on, lighting up the huge dusty square before the bleachers. The crowd roared again, a horn blaring from somewhere near the back.

“ _Allllll right!_ ” came the yodel of the man on the overhead. Castiel assumed that was Gabriel. He recognised his tone as the kind of tone every sports announcer takes on when they have a field to themselves; cocky, somehow a crowd-pleaser despite the indiscernible crackle of his voice through the speaker system.

“ _Tonight we have our very best, as always, ready tooooooo... en-ter-tain yooooou!_ ”

His voice cut over with a recording of a rocky, bumpy song, its bassline growling under the dust, the crowd cheering, raising their arms, the sunlight bathing their fists in deep yellow.

_[So come on - let meeeeeee - entertain you!  
Let meeeeeee - entertain you!](https://www.box.com/s/12jhu0chrwc1f6smsoic)_

Castiel watched the last of the crowd filter into their seats, fresh bottles of beer thrown over heads for friends to catch, shouts of excitement as dense in the air as the evening Texas heat. Breathing out a soft exhale, Castiel fingered his black suit jacket until it fell loose, and he pulled it round to let it settle in his lap. He clutched it with sweaty hands, gulping.

The song ended and another began, and Castiel saw the screen flicker into life across from his seat, a massive rectangle with a sweeping live camera, zoomed in too far. The camera adjusted, the focus becoming clear, and the crowd clattered once more as some of them saw their own faces looking back at them from the screen.

The camera scanned the audience, lingering longer on the people who waved, the teenage girls who blew kisses to the unseen voyeur somewhere ahead of them, the girls’ own eyes turned towards the big screen. The moment a group of women lifted their tops, the camera whizzed away.

“ _Whoa,_ o _kay. Not tonight, ladies. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but, well, y’know._ ”

The camera began panning the rows again, and Castiel watched in a state of semi-interest, vaguely wondering how he would react to seeing his own face. He’d stand out amongst the others, his white shirt, dark hair and only minor tan being somewhat unusual here. He fiddled with his tie, loosening it slightly, undoing the second button of his shirt.

The chatter went on for several minutes, and Castiel realised as he glanced down to the corral at the side of the square, the camera was a distraction from the workers setting up the rodeo show. Horses strutted in place inside their pens, quiet but animated, light-footed.

“ _Let’s see, who’ve we got here todaaay? Oh, hi, ladies, hello, hello. Yes, you too. Ehehehe. - Hey there handsome, don’t I remember you from a bar? - No? Well, maybe that’s because I couldn't take my eyes off your ass, ha-ha! - Ahhh, no, I kid, I kid. Jeez, can’t anyone take a joke these days? Apologies._ ”

Castiel rolled his eyes, standing up and hooking his crumpled clothes over his arm. To Missouri, he muttered, “Going to get something to eat.”

He edged his way out of the row of the bleachers, eyes down so he didn’t have to look at anyone who was awkwardly displaced from their seat as he passed. Feet back on solid ground-down dust, he wandered off to the side, hearing another song come over the speakers, that echoed over the purpling grounds as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The air was still stifling, almost humming in its warmth.

Castiel headed for the cotton candy stall, nodding back at the server who sniffed at him when he approached.

“Small or large?”

“Ah, large, please,” Castiel replied, handing over a crumpled bunch of singles. The bearded man pried the notes apart then handed most of them back, keeping only two. Castiel stood closer and watched the stick of paper being swirled around the huge silver bowl, pink strands of sugar spinning out of its centre like spun wool. The smell of it was intoxicatingly sweet, and Castiel’s mouth was watering before the stick was even half-coated in its fuzz.

The music pumped lower and quieter until the DJ flipped tracks once more, Gabriel’s drawl still talking over it. He spoke of pointless things; the weather, the crowds, tonight’s turnout. Castiel waited for him to speak about the show, or Dean, but even when Castiel had his cotton candy in hand and was meandering back to his seat, Gabriel was still chatting to himself.

Castiel only managed to get his first foot on the side of the bleachers, fluffy sweet treat pressed to his nose as he mouthed at it, when someone caught his arm and pulled him around.

Castiel licked a wet strand of fluff from his lip as he looked into the face of a short man with canine eyes, a smile like a rope bridge, holding a microphone in his face.

“ _Well ain’t this a sight for sore eyes,_ ” the man said, his little eyebrows rising up his crinkled forehead. His voice came from far away from his mouth, and it dawned on Castiel that this was Gabriel. With a nervous flick of his eyes to the screen, Castiel realised his own face, candy-pinked around the mouth, was displayed hugely across the far side of the corral.

“ _Here, ladies and gents, we have a fine, fine specimen of the human race, do we not?_

The crowd made a noncommittal noise, and Castiel honestly wasn’t thinking fast enough to work out whether to take that indecisiveness as offence.

“ _Tell me, sir, are you single?_ ”

The microphone was in Castiel’s face all of a sudden. “Uh.” The sound echoed back in his ears from the sound system, and the few seconds of silence that followed had to be the strangest few seconds of Castiel’s life. “No. Yes. What?”

The crowd laughed, and Castiel could only blink. He could even hear their laughter behind him, staring at his back from where they sat.

“ _Are you dating. Married? Come on, man, give me something. I’m sure there’s a whole bunch of ladies willing to go for this whole—_ ” Gabriel gestured at Castiel’s self, pursing his lips, “ _holy tax accountant, thing._ ”

The people laughed again, and Castiel turned around to peer at them, bewildered to see them all looking away from him, at the screen rather than his person. His hand adjusted on his coat and jacket, then on his cotton candy stick, and he turned back to Gabriel. “I’m a real estate agent.”

The crowd booed. Castiel gaped, glancing wide-eyed at the screen, wondering where his life went wrong.

“ _Aw, come on now, folks,_ ” Gabriel complained, talking to the gathered masses rather than Castiel now. “ _What would the world be without these guys, huh?_ ” Someone in the crowd yelled out something, and Gabriel laughed, then repeated it to the microphone. “ _Happy and rich? Yeah, sure. But they’re only doing their job, right, sir?_ ”

Castiel took a second to realise he was the ‘sir’, and the microphone was expecting an answer. “Yes. And I’m sorry on... on behalf of anyone who has been duped out of their money. We’re not all monsters.”

His voice was shaking, but he pushed out the last of the sentence in the hope nobody would try to trip him on his way back to his seat.

“ _There you go? You see? Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the man who_ rocks _his style, Holy Tax Accountaaaaant!_ ”

Castiel swallowed hard as the pounding music filled the gap of silence where Gabriel’s voice no longer bellowed, and the crowd gave a mild but appreciative applause.

“ _One last question, before you toddle off to your seat,_ ” Gabriel said, winking at Castiel. Castiel nodded, feeling he had no other choice. “ _Why did you come out here today?_ ”

“Um,” Castiel said, as the microphone bumped his nose. “To... There’s somebody... um, I was hoping to meet.”

“ _And who’s that?_ ”

Castiel panicked. If he mentioned Dean, he’d most likely get the equivalent of a backstage pass. If he didn’t, he’d get nothing, but he’d probably not get asked about his motivations in wanting to meet him, and that surely had to mean less core-deep embarrassment.

“I - I - I, I don’t know, just someone. Interesting.”

Gabriel seemed a little disappointed. “ _Weeeell, interesting is what you got, here down at Gabriel’s Texas Cowboys,_ ” he called, turning away and wandering off down to the flat arena without so much as a glance back. “ _Interesting cows, interesting people. Interesting beer,_ ” he added, slowing his voice on the last word. “ _And we got an interesting show lined up for you tonight, all our boys in the back room shaping up their thighs, they’re gotta ride their animals till y’all are beggin’ in your seats - apologies to all young ‘uns in the audience, you’ll know what that means when you’re older._ ”

The crowd chuckled, and Castiel was relieved to find that people stood up and let him pass willingly as he crab-stepped along the aisle. He flumped down next to Missouri again with a tight smile, ducking his head to rub his face against his jacket, wiping up his light sweat.

“Gabriel does that,” Missouri tutted, eyes skimming the arena before settling on Castiel, who sank his teeth into his cotton candy deeper than he’d meant to. “He picks out the sore thumbs and tries to humanise them. He means well.”

“I’m sure he does,” Castiel said, eyes on the parts of his cotton candy that had solidified red, where it had settled whilst he’d been talking to Gabriel. His face was sticky, and he licked his upper lip, running a thumb down the middle of his nose.

Gabriel went on and on, ramping up the crowd until they were cheering heartily, whoops and calls and horns going off just like before. Castiel was just nibbling off the lumps from his candy stick as some kind of siren wailed from the arena, and a gate to the corral burst open, a massive horse bucking its way sideways out of the pen, its rider thrown flat onto its back, holding on for dear life.

Castiel watched as the horse’s back legs flung outwards, its saddle on tight but its legs haywire, the man unable to do anything as he was suddenly propelled from the animal’s back, tossed firmly down into the dust.

With a growl from the audience, the man picked himself back up, shaking down his arms and raising a fist to the open sky. The crowd seemed overjoyed; even Missouri gave a congratulatory hurrah, and Gabriel babbled about scores, about that being a good start to the night.

After two displays much the same, from two other riders and two other horses, Castiel realised horses throwing their riders in an incredibly violent way was literally all this show consisted of. He wasn’t disappointed, as such, but as he’d had no idea what to expect, his discovery came as a slow, bland surprise.

“How long is this event?” Castiel asked, leaning his head towards Missouri.

“Goes on all season, shortcake. Springtime to fall, depending on the weather.”

“I mean tonight.”

“Couple hours.”

“Ah.” Castiel fiddled with his cotton candy stick, picking pink dots off his fingertips.

“Not your thing?”

Castiel shrugged. “It’ll be my thing when Dean shows up. I can appreciate the... I don’t know, the danger and the adrenaline that goes with this performance, but...” He cleared his throat, watching yet another burly, muscled man soaring across the dust on his rear. “No. It’s not my thing.”

Missouri patted his knee sympathetically.

The time passed, and Castiel gave in to watching. He figured, if Dean loved this kind of thing enough to participate, then there had to be something worth enjoying about it.

He found it, after a while. He didn’t know where the enthusiasm came from - maybe it was the sugar in his system, on the alcohol in the air, or the chanting of the audience, the banging of their feet against the bleachers in that thumping way that got his heart going - but he found it.

Rodeo was life, in the way people moved. For the seconds they stayed mounted on their animals, they were part of the creature. There had to be a connection there.

Castiel briefly considered a tie to native lores, as well as other religions and histories; people connecting to animals, using animals in their sport, but not to kill or hurt them. Just for competition. These animals were trained to work like they did, they only moved to buck their riders, and only once the gates were opened; they were calm in the hands of their wranglers. People took good care of these animals: they were uninjured, healthy and strong.

Each rider that got thrown early came up disappointed, and Castiel actually managed to feel their frustration as they stood tall and punched their fists before them as they headed back out of the arena, animal wranglers on horseback coming in to gather up each wild-eyed horse.

Castiel laughed as another man held tight for a full forty-five seconds, falling flat on his back at the end of it and crying out a whoop of success that carried to the bleachers. The crowd cheered with him, numbers on a scoreboard flipping higher.

Sometimes Castiel recognised the riders, they came back after a few other people had competed, and they took another horse and got bucked off another time. Their clothes signified something, the frills of their baggy-sleeved leather costumes coordinated with their hats, or their boots - sometimes both. Some cowboys had their own fans, the girls (and boys) standing in their seats to waggle their signs and cheer for their heros.

Castiel cupped his chin in his hands, grinning at the arena. There was something pleasant about it, about the aura of this place. There was a community between these people, and he even loved how they tried to be accepting of others; Gabriel pulling Castiel out of the crowd turned out to be a good thing after all - Castiel was handed a beer on two occasions, people telling him he needed it, deserved it, but he only accepted the second, sitting up straight-backed and proud as he watched the next round.

The bottle emptied, and with it his stomach felt much the same. He abandoned his seat, sure he’d be back quickly to see Dean; there were twenty minutes left of the show, and neither Benny nor Dean had been announced on the overhead.

Castiel grabbed a ridiculously overpriced slice of pizza and hurried back to his seat, cheese being scoffed up between his teeth. He edged into the bleachers from the other side than before, having just now realised it was quicker.

“Miss anything?” he asked, puffing out a breath as he sat down on his jacket and coat.

“Benny’s up next,” Missouri told him. “He’s Dean’s best friend.”

Castiel chewed a mushroom thoughtfully. “Do you know either of them? Personally, I mean.”

“Oh,” Missouri chuckled, “I know Dean’s little brother well enough, he used to help out at my shop after school.”

Castiel almost inhaled tomato sauce. “You know Sam?!”

“No, Adam. The youngest.”

Castiel forced up a smile, but then realised it was a genuine one after all. Sam had been Castiel’s original - ahem, _crush_ \- but once Castiel really got into the backstory of the brothers, he couldn’t help but fall for the oldest Winchester. Once Dean had outed himself, telling the tabloids about his sexuality, that was it; Castiel was _gone_. Even now, he could barely imagine why he’d ever felt about Sam that way. Sam and Adam were both amazing boys, but Dean grew up a god.

Castiel’s smile wavered as he nudged his thoughts back down, watching a man with an afro flying across the dust. He landed awkwardly, and the crowd went “ _Oouh,_ ” but the cowboy righted himself, unfolding to his feet, and the crowd gave a relieved round of applause.

“ _Another painful performance by our old Rusty Randall, give him a big hand, folks... Yeah, better luck next time, buddy. All right! Here we have our bounciest mare, born and bred in the north of Texas by my own cousin Buh-Buh-Buh-Balthazar! Quit laughing, that’s really his name. Crap, he’s gonna punch me later. And our rider, we have for you tonight another one of our beauuuuutiful regulars, B! E! Double-N-Y!_ ”

The audience shouted out their love. Apparently Benny was both well-known and well-photographed; an image popped up on the big screen. He was a mousy-haired bear of a man, a twinkle in his eye and a cropped beard across his jaw. His hat was tipped back to show his face, and Castiel got no better look before the image cut to the real thing, a wide-trousered cowboy striding across the dust by the corral, climbing the fence by the closed gate.

Castiel sat on the edge of his seat, curling his fist in his coat so nobody else would see his fingers crossing. He wanted a good ride for Benny - at least if he didn’t win, Castiel would rather he be safe. As a countdown started, Castiel supposed his concern for the stranger wasn’t purely out of his concern for Dean’s emotions regarding this Benny fellow, but because there was something kindly in Benny’s face that Castiel saw; Castiel was good at reading faces, and Benny had a sweet nature about him.

“ _Here we go, lining up for his mount. Hold onto your Stetsons, everybody, because here! We! Goooo!_ ”

The gate opened, the horse leapt out, Benny’s hat flipped up and fluttered to the ground, one of his arms raising loosely as he used it to balance. Castiel’s hands clutched around the edge of his cold seat, fingers touching the gum stuck underneath. He winced and wrung his hands together instead, heart hammering to the music in the background, something in the lyrics about danger and death.

He heard a cry as Benny bounced in the saddle, surely leaving it a foot behind, but somehow pulling back to it. Castiel realised the cry came from himself, and once that barrier was broken, he was on his feet along with Benny’s biggest fans, yowling at the floodlit stadium, watching the dust splash out from under the horse’s wild hooves.

Its nostrils flared, its sharp movements projected on the big screen, and Castiel saw the very moment Benny was tossed from his saddle, sailing backwards in an inhuman arc, legs curling up as his arms spread out like wings. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and just at the moment Castiel thought it was over, Benny should be dead, or injured beyond repair, falling flat on his head―

Benny flipped.

He landed on his feet, crouched, arms low, camera on his face as he blinked, realised he was alive, and then his arms raised, and with them he raised the crowd.

Castiel had never heard such enthusiasm in his life. He almost thought the bleachers would collapse under the walloping the spectators was giving it, the frame creaking as their feet stamped, their arms held high, signs flipped and discarded into the dirt as every man, woman and child cheered their hearts out.

Castiel may have pulled something in his throat with his scream.

Benny kissed his fingers and raised them to the crowd, the camera holding the moment perfectly, lights flashing either side of the cowboy.

The horse was forgotten, trotting aimlessly around the arena until its wranglers finally caught up with it, tethering it and dragging it off to the side.

Benny laughed, his grey eyes glinting with relief and joy, but some level of experience - he’d done this before, Castiel realised.

“ _All right, all right, simmer down. You’ll never guess who we have up next. No, it’s not me, but y’all know plenty well that if my back weren’t out, I’d be snapping up those kisses just like Benny there. Get outta my dust, Benny, you’re hogging my limelight._ ”

Benny laughed, now heading towards a shelter that sat somewhere off to the right. Paths from that side led into some sort of building range, separate lodgings that Castiel supposed must be the motel the kid at the gas station had mentioned. Benny instead strode with a wrangler at his side into a brown shack the size of a single-storey house, receiving pats on the back from even the camera crew.

“ _Now, I know he’s out here every show we do, and he basically follows me around like a groupie―_ ”

The overhead squeaked horrendously, and Castiel flinched along with the crowd as the sound reverberated across the pitch. Then the speakers groaned, and the microphone was taken over by a completely different voice, one Castiel recognised at once, but by god, it had become far more seductive than Castiel ever found it before.

“ _That’s bullshit, Gabe. Hi guys. Y’all know my brother’s the one he follows around like a lovesick puppy, don’t you._ ”

The audience cheered briefly, some of them answering Dean’s question with a dragged out “Yes...”

“ _Anyways, I’m - Gabe, fuck off - uh. Sorry to all the kids. I’ve got a dirty mouth on my good days, and - heh - this is one of my better days. You kids ready for a show?_ ”

The crowd cried out an affirmative, and Castiel croaked out a sound along with them, but couldn’t be sure if he actually made any noise.

“ _Well, all right. I’m gonna get down there, get my ride, and give you guys a night to remember. Doubt I can beat Benny’s performance there, so don’t hold out for anything fancy._ ”

The microphone cobbled out a lumpy sound, and then Gabriel took over again. “ _I love when he walks away from me. Bet all the ladies know why, huh? Heh-heh. Sweet. Now!_ ”

Castiel perched on the very rim of his seat as he craned to see Dean approaching the corral. There was a flash of a dusty sky-blue shirt, brighter in the floodlights than it would have been in the falling sunset. The sky was almost completely dark now, but the heat of day still simmered as beautifully as before.

Castiel couldn’t be more than twenty feet from Dean, and he felt exhilarated by that fact.

“ _Here he is tonight, in all his rainbow-fringed glory. Man, I love that outfit, don’t you? Designed it myself._ ” There was a pause. “ _My sidegal here just informed me that Double-D Winchester told me to go stick something very private and very dear to me in a place where I’m sure_ he’d _rather have it._ ”

The crowd laughed, and Castiel found himself blushing just a little. He petted his face, curling his fingers against his cheek as he felt his eyes flush hot from the sudden rush of heat to his head. He kind of liked thinking about it, he liked how much Gabriel was flirting. It only served to remind Castiel that Dean upheld a variety of human attraction beyond the girls who were now roaming the arena, clad in bikinis, waving around trophies and shiny belts.

“ _But here we have him, folks, the one, the only! Our bisexual beauty, Deeeeean - Winchesteeeeeeeer!_ ”

The air soared with yet another cry of delight, so many people rising to their feet that Castiel was forced to do the same, just so he could see beyond the giant red-haired man who was clapping his meaty hands in front of Castiel.

“ _On your mark! Get set!_ ”

The siren wailed, the girls ran out of the square and hopped the fence, and the gate burst open as fast as lightning.

This wasn’t a horse that Dean rode. Instead, a furious bull launched itself out of the pen, horns as pointed as the devil’s, eyes wild as fire. Dean was clenched around the creature, the rainbow-coloured fringes of his sky-blue shirt flapping in the dreadful stampede that the monster made, the bucking ten times as rapid and dangerous as the horses that came before him.

Castiel had his hands over his mouth, eyes wide, breathing fast and quick, as silent as everyone else in the crowd, stunned.

The music blared, but its rhythm was so out of time with the bull that it was meaningless.

Dean’s body was tossed about like a ragdoll, a man in red running around their pounding movement, trying to distract the bull to keep Dean safe - as safe as he could possibly be, clinging to a beast that size, with that strength.

Dean’s spine was pressed to the bull’s black-haired back, hands between his legs, unbelievably loose from the bull but somehow still attached to it. His hat was long gone, sitting flat in the dirt.

Hooves, horns, hands. Castiel felt like time froze in the very instant Dean was thrown forward, face inches - _inches_ \- from the bull’s horns―

And then it was over. Dean was in the dust, legs splayed, arms flopping backwards―

The bull rounded on him, tail flicking like a whip, massive shoulders wide and dangerous, eyes locked to him, back legs grinding the dirt, ready to charge―

The man in red rushed between them, pulling the creature’s eyes away. Wranglers descended from what seemed like every angle, ropes and lassos tethering the bull until it gave up its struggle, standing calmly with all four feet locked firm, huge nostrils inhaling all the air of the world.

Castiel’s legs collapsed, and he fell into his seat with the kind of sigh that made him feel like he’d never breathe again.

“Oh good lord, the things that boy does to my heart,” Missouri worried, flapping a hand against her chest.

“Me too,” Castiel whispered, a shaky grin bubbling up.

The whole audience seemed to have had a similar reaction, some of them simultaneously downing deep sips of beer.

Gabriel finally stuttered back into Castiel’s awareness, announcing “ _I’ll call that a full ten seconds, my my my._ ”

Castiel gaped. It had seemed like an eternity.

Dean dragged himself to his feet, a weary cheer coming from the people watching, wolf whistles and flowers thrown at his feet. Dean grinned, his perfect smile brightening the big screen as he stooped to pick up a red rose, lifting it to the crowd like a champagne toast. He kissed its petals, then slipped it into the buttonhole of his blue shirt, his rainbow tassels catching on his middle for a moment as he swept his arms back to his sides to take a bow.

He was pretty before, the years Castiel had coveted his pictures. Now, he’d grown handsome. Still beautiful. Still glowing from the inside, still playing the rogue. The fanatic in Castiel had died long ago; Dean was another man with another life now, but Castiel still felt like he knew him, just a bit. Dean was still special, and Castiel was left feeling a certain kind of love for him.

His crush was rekindling, and as Dean raised kissed fingers to the air the same way Benny had, Castiel imagined himself catching the kiss from the air and touching it to his heart. He wasn’t like the teenage girls, who were doing exactly the same in reality - but somewhere deep inside him, he probably felt the same way they did.

But he’d probably never have the chance to see him up close. Dean was heading in the same direction as Benny, to the building to the side. It would be rude for Castiel to find his way in there. He wasn’t a stalker. He was shy, and he was not the kind of fan to follow celebrities home. He knew how badly those people reflected on all the other fans.

Castiel stood, eyes straining to watch the very last glimpse of rainbow fringe disappear through the door. He imagined Dean would drink some beer, laugh with Benny, then take a rodeo bunny to bed and wake up alone, happy, and without ever having Castiel’s awkwardness sully his existence.

Castiel sat down slowly, no interest in the next couple of performances. At the end, Gabriel took a minute to tally up the winner of the night and announced it to be one of the names Castiel didn’t recognise; Linda something - probably one of the women he’d seen but not been interested enough in the sport to watch properly.

“You doing all right there, honey?” Missouri asked, a hand resting on Castiel’s rolled-up shirtsleeve. “He does rather take it out of you, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, a lazy smile on his face. “It was nice to see him.”

Missouri gave a reassuring smile, starting to gather up her bag and shawl. Castiel glanced around and saw other people were doing the same, the show over now.

“ _And make sure you feed your pets when you get home, and drive safe, and if you drank more than one beer I hope you brought a buddy. There’s taxis waiting for ya if not. We’ll take care of your car, promise. ... Okay―_ ” the speakers whistled, “ _See ya’ll next time. Gabriel out!_ ”

The overhead buzzed, clicked, then went silent. The floodlights flickered briefly but stayed bright, shining in Castiel’s eyes. The screen blanked, Castiel’s vision now filled with sloping shoulders as people stood from their seats and hobbled across the bleachers, parents grabbing for children, beer bottles clinking as someone came round with a cart for people to throw the glass into.

Castiel stood to give the collector his bottle, and it slid to the bottom of the cart and hit the other bottles with an unmistakable glassy sound.

“Good show tonight, huh?” the collector said, his spectacles halfway down his nose as he peered at Castiel. “More fun than selling houses?”

Castiel managed a smile, glancing away to see Missouri giving a farewell wave as she followed the crowd. Castiel returned the goodbye, then looked back to the glass collector. “Yes. Definitely.”

“Come back soon, eh?”

Castiel nodded, unsure at first, but once the glass collector moved on past, he was more resolved. Yes, he wanted to come back. Benny and Dean had a new fan, and if his guess that everyone here was a regular was correct, he might see Missouri again, too. It had been so long since Castiel had a friend, and Missouri perhaps counted as such. It would have meant more if she’d given him a number, an email address - some way to contact her when he was back in Kansas.

Dragging his jacket and coat back on despite not being cold, Castiel sighed. Most of the crowd was gone now. He sank his hands into his pockets, thumbing at the solid gum wrappers and lint he’d spent far too many minutes shaping into animals. Sometimes working on commission meant he had too much free time.

Humming tunelessly, Castiel tipped his head back, leaning his calves against the edge of his seat. Stars were popping out of the silken darkness of the sky. The floodlights were polluting its colour, but it was still awesome in its openness. No buildings shielded his view, not from where he stood. Open desert sky, endless.

The universe was out there, and for all he knew, his home could be out there, too. He could lie back and drift into the heavens, and he could be home. But yet, here he was, somewhere in Texas, existing to sell homes to other people.

Right now he was missing out on something he’d wished for for almost a third of his life. Dean Winchester was just another man, stuck to the planet just the same as Castiel was, but...

God, it was weird. It was weird that Castiel could know so much about Dean Winchester, have read so many articles about him, heard his voice so often, learned every word he ever wrote off by heart, so well that he could recite the absolute poetry in his head - and yet Dean had no idea he existed.

Maybe that was how God saw his humans.

And that, there, was the reason Castiel fell out of love with religion. He was too small a being. Too tiny.

He fell out of love with God, and by design, lost the meaning of Dean’s words in the process. He grew up and away, and the next thing he knew, Dean was no longer touring with his brothers, and less than a year later, Heaven Falling was no more, helpless without the teenage beauty as their poster boy.

Castiel closed his eyes and shut out the stars, releasing a long breath that burned his lips. Shaking his head, hating these moments when he questioned his whole life, just because it got so confusing, he stepped down the row of the empty bleachers and headed back towards the pizza stand.

He heard servers' voices as they packed away, the lights from the kitchen window still open to the path. Hands in his pockets, Castiel went up to the window.

“Hello,” he said, as the pretty dark-skinned woman leant over to look at him. “Are you still serving?”

She looked behind her, squinting at the ovens and the shelves, then to the refrigerator. “Got beer.”

Castiel wasn’t driving tonight anyway; he could sleep in the car. He didn’t want to take a motel room, knowing he’d be too tempted to call and cancel his appointment tomorrow and then just stay a whole week, maybe longer.

Maybe he could just cancel his whole life. That would be easier.

“Just a beer then, thanks,” he muttered, fishing in his pocket for his wallet, then tutting and going for loose cash instead. He couldn’t be bothered punching his codes into anything, nor going through the hassle of being told the machine was already switched off.

“Same for me,” came another voice, and a sky-blue movement at the corner of Castiel’s eye let him know he had no reason to turn around. He knew who that was. “Man. Hey, Cassie, can you let Gabe know when the mini fridge is gonna be fixed in his room? He pinched all of my booze. And my candy, dammit. Hey - hey, you got any KitKats?”

The girl, Cassie, handed Dean his candy without comment.

“Thanks.”

“On the house,” Cassie called over her shoulder, grabbing at empty pizza trays.

“And―” Dean leaned over the counter, slapping some money down beside the till. “And that’s for this guy’s beer, it’s just rude to pay for mine and not his, c’mon.”

Castiel’s jaw trembled. _Say something._

“Uhhh. Thank you?”

Dean shot Castiel a smile. “Welcome, buddy.” He slapped Castiel on the shoulder, hooking an elbow over the countertop. His sharp jaw rotated back to the kitchen, and he hollered, “Lady, where’s my beer?!”

“Coming, coming. Jesus, Dean, patience is a virtue,” Cassie snapped, still friendly, as she bent to retrieve two chilled bottles, thunking them both onto the table. She swiped up the money Dean left, winking as she glanced to the other staff in the kitchen then shoved it into her own breast pocket. Then she sauntered off, shouting to another staff member about the floodlights.

Dean uncapped the bottle on the edge of the counter, and Castiel stared at that display feeling something akin to _impressed_.

“Hey, want me to get yours?” Dean asked, wriggling his fingers at Castiel’s bottle. He didn’t wait for an answer as he took the bottle and flipped the cap off, both their eyes watching it spin over and over until it buried itself in the trampled grass.

Castiel found his hand full of condensation-drenched beer bottle as Dean grunted and bent to retrieve the cap, sighing as he straightened and flicked it like a coin back into the kitchen, scattering it across the table top.

Castiel forced himself to down a sip of beer, just for sense of something to do with his hands and mouth and everything.

“Benny put on a great show tonight, huh?” Dean grinned, eyes focused on the back wall of the tiny kitchen. “Damn, that guy really knows how to work it.”

“Are you and him―?”

Jesus Christ, that was not what Castiel meant to say.

Dean eyed Castiel with a tiny smirk covering his pink lips. “Me and Benny? Nah. Plenty of love there, but―” he waggled his hand like a see-saw, screwing up his mouth, “together-together’s not a place we’re going.”

Castiel slammed the beer bottle between his teeth and tipped a mouthful down his throat, unable to blink in case he landed in some other existence where this exact thing wasn’t happening in reality.

“I guess you’re the guy, right?” Dean asked, pointing a finger-gun at Castiel and pulling the trigger. “Holy tax accountant or whatever?”

Castiel nodded, a wary smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Real estate agent.”

Dean pursed his lips and purred, eyes sinking Castiel’s height then roaming casually back up again. Castiel locked solid, inside and out, because _Dean Winchester was checking him out_.

“Real estate _angel_ , more like.”

Castiel choked on nothing.

Dean laughed, skin wrinkling at the sides of his eyes, perfect teeth showing as he grinned at Castiel. Somewhere, kittens were born.

With a quick glance to the kitchen to make sure Cassie was well and truly out of earshot, Dean’s gaze tracked back to Castiel, the smile still warming his face.

“Naw, man,” Dean said, casually, moving his beer bottle gently towards him, “Gabe was spot on. You rock that look. I mean,” he scoffed, “I don’t know how you’re wearing so many layers in July, but at least they’ve gotta be fun to take off, am I right?”

Dean winked, setting the beer bottle to his lower lip, where the tip of his tongue was resting.

Castiel was slightly dead inside. “Uhh.”

Dean bit his lip, still beaming. “Why’re you starin’ at me like that? C’mon. Is it the outfit?” He raised an arm, the baggy blue suede dangling like a swoop between his shoulder and wrist, its tassels going from red through orange, yellow, green, then blue. “Ugh. Honest-to-God, it wasn’t me that picked it. I wish I didn’t catch the animated pony reference, but there you have it. Gabriel in a nutshell.”

Castiel’s brow creased, not understanding.

Dean snorted and threw the subject off with a shake of his head. “Just trust me, if he ever starts calling me ‘Dashie’, turn around and run the other way, unless you want to hear his spiel about children and the importance of feminism in the media.”

Castiel tried to close his mouth, but _thoughts_ were rising in his mind, and with those thoughts came _words_ , and with those words came things he regretted the second they exited his mouth. “I bought all your albums. ‘My Mother Mary’ was my favourite. I’ve never heard that much emotion in one song before.”

Dean’s jaw slowly dropped, and unless Castiel was imagining it, Dean suddenly started looking at Castiel very differently.

Oh great. He’d fucked this up.

Dean’s eyebrows jumped into a near arch, then settled again. “Yeah, that one always gets me, too.” He looked down at his beer bottle like it was fascinating.

“I, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Castiel said, lowering his voice and his gaze. “I didn’t come all the way out here to see you, either, but I saw a pamphlet while I was in town, and I just thought I’d give this a try.” He gestured to the arena, where the floodlights clacked off, draping the place in darkness. “I’ve never been to a rodeo before. It’s different than I’d imagined.”

Dean smiled softly, picking at his bottle’s label with a thumbnail. “Yeah.”

Castiel swallowed. Dean seemed to have retracted deep within himself, when just a moment earlier he’d been so open. Maybe Castiel hit a sore spot; it certainly seemed that way.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeated, slumping back against the painted side of the kitchen truck. He sipped at his beer, tipping it to the sky and letting the bitter liquid flow over his tongue, cooling the burn from earlier.

“Nah, it’s all right, man,” Dean shook his head, muttering now. “Just. Haven’t met a Heaven Falling fan for a couple years now. Kind of all bounces back at once.” He too downed a large drenching of beer, swallowing once, twice, three times before he released the bottle. He cleared his throat. “That was a pretty miserable time for me, but I guess the articles never said much about that.”

Castiel blinked, surprised. “No, they never did.”

Dean’s smile became tense, eyes reaching Castiel’s only briefly before landing back on his bottle. “It wasn’t just the creepy middle-aged ‘fans’ giving me hassle, you know? The paparazzi wasn’t any less demanding back then as it is now. Just at that time, the cameras were all pointed at me, and anything you said about the guys with the cameras never got out to the public.”

He shrugged, glancing to the kitchen, then turning away. Sweeping a hand towards Castiel, he started walking away. Castiel only hesitated a moment before following.

“Nobody was really all that happy to see a bisexual kid fronting a Christian rock band,” Dean went on, his boots striding slow and rhythmic across the grass, Castiel’s own black dress shoes keeping pace. “They let me talk about it ‘cause some days, it was all I’d talk about, because it was all I _wanted_ to talk about. They were all ‘we got an exclusive interview’ or whatever, and they couldn’t really avoid printing what I said, even if they tried twisting every word.”

“I was happy about it,” Castiel said, his deep voice seeming softer as his syllables were lost to the thick air. “About you being bisexual and in a Christian rock band. Dean, that was life-changing for me.” Castiel couldn’t help the smile that rose. “It can’t have just been me. There would be teenagers everywhere who grew up understanding that they weren’t broken. That they’re not alone.”

Dean’s smile was crooked as he turned his eyes to Castiel, beer bottle halfway to his lips. “I guess that’s something.”

Castiel nodded. He felt more at ease now, somehow. Dean was a person under his layers of stardom, and no matter how much Castiel already knew that, it was tied down in reality now. He’d seen it for himself.

“What was your favourite song?” Castiel asked, leaning a little closer to Dean as they walked. They were on the path towards the brown buildings, the motel rooms. Castiel’s heart fluttered, but he tried not to get ahead of himself and what their destination might mean.

“What, you didn’t read the answer to that question a hundred times over? Seriously, man, that’s gotta be the number one question people ask, outside of ‘what inspired the lyrics to insert-song-here?’ or ‘are you seeing anyone?’”

Castiel chuckled, because he’d near-enough asked that last question himself, not minutes before. “I only ask because maybe the answer changed over the years. I know my favourite did. ‘My Mother Mary’ was my favourite back then, because I’d―” Castiel looked at the ground, “I’d just lost my father, and something about it rang true with me. But...”

He sighed, sucking on his lower lip, turning the beer bottle this way and that in his hand. “But now, I’ve not heard the songs for years, but all I can think of is ‘Not Going Home’. There wasn’t much positivity for Christianity in that one. I like that now, I’m sorry if that’s offensive. I’ve distanced myself from religion since... since before.”

Dean laughed very quietly. “Nah. Offensive is when someone punches me in the face without asking politely. It’s cool, it is. It’s one reason I quit the band.” He shrugged, his bottle almost bumping Castiel in the chest. “God didn’t do it for me any more. I heard one too many people telling me God thinks I’m going to Hell, and I dunno. I snapped. Just gave up and it drained away, and that’s basically where ‘Not Going Home’ came from. So there, you’ve now got your answer to ‘what inspired the lyrics of X’.”

Castiel smiled. “ _I’m not going hoooome, I’ve got the devil on my back―_ ”

Dean laughed, joining in immediately with, “ _He’s rii-iiding me to the eeeend of this road; tell God I ain’t coming back―_ ”

“ _I’ll see you in the morning, when the flowers on my grave are sleepin’_ ”

“ _And I’ll tell you how beautiful Hell’s a-keepin’... Let God know, I’m not goo-oing hooome._ ” Dean finished the verse, a wistful smile pulling crow’s feet into the side of his eyes. “Yeah, all right. Maybe that’s my favourite.”

“Do you still write?”

They neared the end of a worn gravel path, where the turning forked to the left, leading to the corral building, light spilling from the windows. The right fork split into multiple directions, each ending at the door of a semi-detached room, every room with a wooden outer and its own ceramic room number. The moon was rising, lighting their way as Dean turned right.

“I do,” Dean grinned, answering at last. He seemed to have been deliberating over it for some time. “Not about religion, though.”

“Then?”

Dean’s chuckle came out almost wicked. “Sex, mostly. Pain. Suffering. Kissing bulls under cherry trees, that kind of thing.”

Castiel snorted, then gulped down the last of his beer. “Sounds like my kind of music.”

“It’s really not,” Dean shrugged. “It’s not anyone’s. I don’t play it to anyone but Gabe, Benny, or my brothers.”

“No lucky groupies with attentive ears?”

Dean laughed again as he turned left, crossing a low flowerbed and aiming his feet towards the front door of a motel room, patting down his sides and eventually dipping his hand into his front left pocket to pull out a room key. With that in the door, he turned his face back to Castiel, his green eyes no more than twinkles in the slow blue light. “Groupies aren’t really my thing, never were. I like the guys and gals who come say hi and tell me they love the music.”

Castiel watched the man enter his room, the light inside tickling on and flooding the short grass outside with lace-curtain-filtered brightness. Castiel’s heart had crawled so far out his throat that he was probably standing on it. He was outside the private rooms of _Dean Winchester_ , and as far as Castiel could interpret this, he’d just been selected as... what?

“You coming in, or do I gotta come out there and grab you by the horns?”

Castiel went up to the door and stood there for a moment. Life-changing. He stepped inside.

The room was all... cowboy-y. The walls were panelled with lacquer-coloured wood, cowboy hats hooked between two horseshoes every few feet, around head-height. The bed was a double, sheeted nicely but left rumpled, the pillows hap-hazard and the undersheet trailing on the gruff carpet.

Off to the far left there was a door to the bathroom, where Dean was now, a toothbrush in hand, toothpaste in the other. He leaned on the frame as Castiel slowly, deliberately, closed the front door behind him. Dean smiled, then set the brush to his grin and started shifting it, turning away and kicking the door half-closed.

“M’k y’r self at home,” he called, running a tap.

Castiel felt a fleeting rush of _oh god he trusts me not to steal his stuff and run_. It passed, and he took a deep breath, gently tugging his overcoat off and looked around for somewhere to put it. He laid it over a 70’s style woollen dipping armchair, which sat beside a round café table. His suit jacket joined it, and he rolled his shirtsleeves up.

The morning’s newspaper rested on the table, the crossword half-completed, a pen lying uncapped beside Dean’s KitKat and empty beer bottle. Castiel reached to set down his own beer bottle, then replaced the pen cap before peering at the paper. Dean had used pen on the newspaper, but had covered the crossword in mistakes, scribbling on it before going over with the correct answers. A brave man, but one with faults in his bravery, Castiel discerned.

“Actually,” Dean said, and Castiel turned around quickly to see Dean leaning his head out of the bathroom, a mess of toothpaste down his chin. Hastily, Castiel fiddled with the pen, then set it back on the table. Dean watched and smirked.

“Actually,” he continued, “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll be like, two minutes. You okay to wait?”

Castiel gaped silently for one second. “Yes. Yes, that’s okay.”

“Cool. Don’t break anything.”

Then the door shut between them, and Castiel sagged down into the armchair, one hand flat on the tabletop.

What was he waiting for, exactly? What was he even _doing_ here? On a moment’s thought, Castiel realised Dean didn’t even know his name.

He heard a pipe juddering in the wall, and then the hiss of the shower from the bathroom. Dean was naked behind that wall.

“Fuck,” Castiel breathed, cupping his hands around his mouth. Three hours ago, he’d been in a truck stop off the interstate, stopping for a snack before he drove home. Of all the places in the world, this was where he was instead.

Maybe for once, the universe was telling him something. Dreams weren’t going to come true if he followed his plans instead.

The universe. Not God. God got no say in how Castiel found his way home.

The kid in the truck stop probably had something to do with it, too.

Slightly at a loss, Castiel turned to casting his eyes around the motel room, making his eyes water as he stared at the dusty spiderwebbed lampshades for too long, then he stood up to look at the titles of the books that were stacked beside Dean’s nightstand.

Plenty of Vonnegut, a Wodehouse compilation, a new print of Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’, one rag-eared library copy of the fifth ‘Harry Potter’ book. Other odds and ends made up the stack, but those were the ones that stood out to Castiel. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he liked that he recognised most of them.

Moving past, he dragged his hand over the bed, the rough texture of the top cotton blanket making his fingertips warm. He rubbed them together as he turned around, eyes immediately landing on something leaning on the chest of drawers that made his stomach flip.

He went to pick it up, no question about it. Heart beating shallow under his skin, he walked back, toed off his shoes without a further thought, and sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed, bringing the guitar with him.

The sound of the first notes he played came out sweeter than anything he’d ever heard before. The instrument was out of tune, but Castiel dared not fix it; it was perfect already. Just the feel of it in his hands, in his lap, was enough.

He played the opening notes to [Simon & Garfunkel’s ‘Sound of Silence’](https://www.box.com/s/0mfnw5i4fiv6obtbtcp3). His eyes fell closed, lost in the beauty of this thing. He didn’t need to sing, just heard the words in his heart.

He could imagine the sound of Dean singing this song; mellow, gritty, more of a growl in his voice now the years had passed. He no longer spoke softly nor sweetly; he’d become gruff, turning from a siren to a bull, and to his betterment.

The bathroom door snapped open a few inches, and Castiel’s notes faltered, eyes shooting to the rush of steam that floated into the room then dissipated.

“You’re kidding me,” Dean muttered, half his face visible through the gap.

“S- Sorry,” Castiel said, uncrossing his legs and moving to stand up. “I just saw it, and I didn’t even―”

“Christ, sit the hell back down,” Dean complained, and Castiel very slowly, unsteadily, replaced his buttocks on the end of Dean’s bed. “That’s one of my favourites, like, ever. In the history of music ever made. Alongside―”

“Led Zeppelin’s ‘Traveling Riverside Blues’ and ‘Ramble On’.”

Dean clicked a grin, a hand going to rest on the door frame. Castiel still couldn’t see any more than half his face, and his hair looked like it was dripping. “Hey, could you pass me some underwear?”

Castiel’s hands shook on the guitar. “Um. Where?”

“Top drawer.”

Castiel set the guitar down and moved to the dresser, pulling out the top drawer without preamble. Various colours, styles, and fabrics looked up at him, all folded neatly and arranged in no particular order. “Which ones?”

“Pick your favourite, I don’t really care,” Dean said, voice echoing as he returned to the bathroom. “Something sexy!”

Castiel’s heart was not racing as much as before. He should be flipping his lid, but he... wasn’t? Dean was comfortable. He was kind of easy to be around, and Castiel wondered if everyone felt this relaxed around him. There was something about the casual way he moved and talked that let Castiel find it a cinch to go for the pair that, rather than impress Dean by finding a favourite, would make him laugh.

“Here,” Castiel called, stepping closer to the bathroom.

“Hold on a sec, I’ll be right out.”

Castiel heard the flapping sound of a towel, presumably Dean drying his hair.

Castiel waited patiently until Dean opened the bathroom door, his towel around his waist. He turned back briefly to flip off the light switch, then flip on the extractor fan. “Goddamn it, should’ve had that on earlier.” With a fresh smile on his face, his eyes tracked to Castiel face. “What’ve you got me, stranger?”

“Castiel,” Castiel informed him. He held up a bundle of underwear, letting Dean take it. Their fingers touched, and Castiel felt shocks, tiny tingles of electric currents running through and under his skin.

Dean pried the cloth apart and held it from the band. Castiel smirked. They were cotton boxer-briefs, the cloth minutely pilled in the more worn places. Brown all over, with tiny green cartoon dinosaurs in a repeating pattern all the way across it.

Dean glanced up, his eyes that glorious mossy green in the light of his room. “I said sexy, and you get me tiny raptors?”

Castiel smiled, giving a subtle shrug.

Dean held his eye for a few moments, then sank into a soft laugh. His lip arched in an accepting expression, and he lowered the underwear and lifted a leg to put them on. Castiel watched, unable to tear his eyes away as Dean wriggled the briefs up both legs, the hem of the towel lifting. He squatted for a moment to slide them fully to his hips without unravelling the towel, and Castiel looked up when he was done, startled to see Dean grinning at him.

“Hey there, tiger.”

Castiel fingered his collar, on the very verge of a blush. “Hello.”

What the hell was he even meant to be doing right now? Was he here to talk? As a friend? For sex?

“So were you gonna play me something, or...?” Dean tipped his head back to the guitar on the bed, his damp hair ruffling with its own weight.

Castiel shuffled, curling his toes. He could feel the grain of the carpet through his socks. “Dean, why am I here?”

Dean looked from his guitar to Castiel. “You’re the one who followed me home. You tell me.”

“I didn’t follow you, you led me,” Castiel replied, indignant.

Dean’s grin rose slowly, but when it reached its peak, it shone like a ray of sunlight. “I’m kidding, man. Damned if I know what you’re doing here. Maybe talk? Maybe sing?” Dean’s shrug tugged at the fine muscles of his shoulders, the iconic tattoo over his heart barely shifted by the movement. “Maybe other stuff. If you’re up for... uh.”

For the first time, Dean looked embarrassed, eyes lowering and turning away as his head swayed. His long eyelashes patted over his cheeks, tip of his tongue breaking the line between his lips. “Like I said,” he finished, voice gruff. “Damned if I know.”

Castiel set his jaw, wandering to the bed, eyes not quite on Dean but not quite looking away, either. He crossed his legs on top of the comforter once more, taking the guitar in hand.

“May I tune her?”

Dean smiled. “Go ahead. Be careful, though. She’s my baby.”

Castiel chuckled, adjusting the pegs as he twanged and plucked at the strings, trying to find his starting notes. “I know. This is the same guitar in the photograph, the one in the poster I have - _had_ \- on my wall.” He gave a shy smile, and Dean seemed frozen for a while, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his towel, before he returned the smile.

“Betcha jerked off to thoughts of my brothers, right?”

Castiel couldn’t meet his eye. In what part of normal human interaction was it okay to hear a near-stranger admit he masturbated to the thought of his hands, his voice, imagined sounds of his erotic groans? His perfect plush lips, his pretty green eyes, his smile? _That_ smile.

Dean’s breath had caught, and Castiel just stared back at him, watching and revelling in the moment the man’s shoulders slumped, rising again as he inhaled. The sound of it was jittery even from across the small room; Dean was affected by the implications of the silence.

So, he knew. How could he _not_ know?

Dean licked his lips, tongue wet and thick, eyes darting away then back. “Uh. Heh.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, apologising for the umpteenth time. He’d lost count.

“Don’t be,” Dean said, his voice softer and kinder than Castiel expected. He blinked to find Dean walking forwards, one hand clasping the side of his towel. With Dean’s head tilted, he turned and sat himself down on Castiel’s left, the light of the room falling on his face from above, casting tall shadows of his eyelashes down his freckled cheeks. He looked so entrancing up close.

Castiel could smell his soap.

“Look,” Dean said suddenly, face turned to his bare knees, “it’s fine. Unless I move past the whole you’re-a-fan thing, I’m never gonna get to talk to you like a person. I’m not any different to you, now. Fame and glory and all that shit is in the past, and it was shit at the time, too.” He made a shrugging motion with his lips, eyeing the far wall. “Only difference between us is that you saw a good-lookin’ boy in the papers and kinda liked what he did for you. I saw different boys and thought the same thing, and all of them probably grew up into real people too, but none of them are you. Just so happens one of yours is me.”

He met Castiel’s eye, breathing out quietly. “I’m not that boy any more. I’m Dean Winchester, bucking bronco. You’re Castiel the stranger, who came to see me by mistake.”

Castiel gave a tense smile, eyes lingering on Dean’s bare nipple for a second too long.

“I’m Castiel Norton, the real estate agent without a home.”

That piqued Dean’s interest. “No home?”

“Well.” Castiel patted the guitar, feeling its hollow sound thump against his stomach, thankful his fingers left no mark on the black shine. “I have a home. I have a house. An apartment, I suppose.”

“But?”

Castiel slid his tongue over his lips. “But it’s just me. I travel a lot, I get back there, and it’s always empty.”

Dean ran the heel of his hand down his towel, shuffling its white frizz. “ _Empty chairs, at empty tables..._ ”

Castiel screwed up his face. “Oh, no, no, not that song, I hate that song, no, no―”

Dean had already pried the guitar from Castiel’s grip, settling it into his own lap and twiddling the pegs a final time, strumming the strings a few times until Castiel sat still, finished grumbling into his own fist.

Dean began singing slow, voice grimy, guitar silent.

“ _[There's a grief... that can't be spoken... There's a pain... that goes on and on. Empty chairs... at empty tables... Now my friends are dead and goooone.](https://www.box.com/s/bcwu1za36bwo6lyviewf)_ ”

“Fuck you,” Castiel hissed, at the moment Dean pulled out the first strum of perfect harmony from the guitar, twanging a few stray notes to meet the next line.

“ _Here, they talked of revolution. Here it was, they lit the flaaame. Here they sang about tomorrow... And tomorrow... never caaaame._ ”

Castiel set his hand over the neck of the guitar, ruining Dean’s next attempts to play. Dean looked at him, a questioning smile on his face. Castiel shook his head. “No sad songs.”

“Life’s sad.”

Castiel huffed a small laugh, mouth closed. “Tonight’s not really for living.”

Dean’s eyelashes fluttered, Castiel saw the brief second his gaze lowered to Castiel’s lips. But the moment passed, and Castiel wondered if it ever happened at all.

“No, I...” Castiel sighed, looking to the dresser ahead of him. “I get home, and all I want is to leave again. I become a shitty person when I’m back there. Everything’s modern and... smart. I turn into a businessman.”

“Gabriel’s a businessman. There’s plenty of different types.”

“I become a bad one. People booed me out there on the bleachers today, and there’s good reason for that. I said I don’t swindle people out of their money, but I do. I don’t tell people about the weak ceilings or the leaky boilers, even after the inspections. I oversell, I convince people their houses aren’t worth that much, I underbuy and invest myself, then touch up the cosmetic stuff and oversell again.”

Castiel sucked in his lips, wetness filling his eyes as he lowered his gaze to the carpet. “Oh, damn it, now I’m crying.” He laughed, putting his hand over his eyes, pushing the tears back inside. “I should’ve just gone to confession.”

“No, this is good,” Dean muttered, putting a warm hand on Castiel’s knee, rough through his slacks. “We’ve all been bad people.”

“What’ve you done that’s so shitty?”

“Ah.” Dean clucked, then shook his head. “I said I’ve been a bad person, I didn’t say I was _that_ bad.”

Castiel snuffled a wet laugh against the back of his hand, swallowing and taking a cleansing breath. “If I don’t go home I won’t be that person again. It’s that simple. It’s that _house_ , it makes me greedy.”

“What do you even use the money for?”

Castiel laughed again, mirthless. “Nothing. I do the same thing over and over; more houses, bigger apartment lots, paying more people to do it up quicker. There’s no point or end to it.”

Dean squinted at him, a narrow frown between his eyebrows. “Is it fun?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Fulfilling in some way? Does it make your mom proud?”

Castiel forced a smile. “Yes. My mom probably sees this like the equivalent of me graduating from college. Which I never did, by the way.”

“Neither.”

“I’m rolling in money,” Castiel said, with an air of defeat about him. He looked up to the ceiling, wishing for a crazy moment that he too had mildew creeping under the paint and spiderwebs wafting with stray dust across his ceiling.

Dean laughed after a moment. “I’ve never heard anyone sound so sad when they say that.”

“I try, I do,” Castiel said, groaning as he sank his face against his hands, which still smelled like money, and pizza, and a little of candy floss. “It’s just that every time someone calls me and asks for an appointment, I just clam up and slide into this... alternate, parallel mode. Hungry. It’s like I get off on making people miserable.”

With a quick glance to Dean, he added, “I don’t. I really don’t. I love making people happy. I just can’t do it. I’m such a... quiet person. But then I have to sell people things, and I can’t do that unless I’m ravenous. I just pretend to be like that.”

“Hey, uh, Cas?”

Castiel turned, realising Dean was addressing him with only the first half of his name. “Hm?”

Dean’s lips flicked into a momentary grin, before it faded. “I get it. It’s called acting. I did it for the cameras, for the people down in the mosh pits, the crowds, the question-answer sessions. I do it for the bronco folks out there in the arena. I’m not the cocky, whatever - sure-headed guy. That guy in the magazines is a fake Dean.”

“A persona.”

“Exactly.” Dean was nodding, eyes almost closed. His bare, freckled shoulders were bowed, his clavicle protruding as he curled over his guitar. “In real life I’m shy like you wouldn’t believe, I have to wash my hands after touching anything, I can’t pee unless there’s water running loud, I basically cry every time I get on a plane to get anywhere, so I need my brother with me if I travel - Sammy, not Adam. Adam’s got his own problems.”

Dean sniffed sharply, lips twitching as he struggled to control some buried emotion. “We’re all pretty far from perfect. I do a hell of a lot of pretending, so yeah. I know how it is. I’m not the guy you think I am.”

Castiel sighed, slow. He gave himself time to digest Dean’s words, then his own thoughts.

Then he put his hand on top of the fist that Dean had left on his knee, curling his fingers around his knuckles. “If it means anything,” he said, “I like this Dean better. The Dean Winchester who was lead singer of Heaven Falling, he was nice. He was attractive, and smart-mouthed, and for some reason amazing with the ladies despite his public claims he liked men just as much.” Dean scoffed.

Castiel went on, “But this older Dean is polite and charming, and... funny.” He twisted his fingers on Dean’s fist, feeling it begin to relax. “With some quirks.”

Dean chortled, and Castiel couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped in reply.

“And even more attractive,” Castiel smiled. “Skilled, brave enough to put his life in danger every time he wants to please an audience.”

“You know I always just wanted to write?” Dean blurted, then shut his mouth, like he hadn’t wanted that to escape.

Castiel said nothing, just waiting.

But Dean said nothing else, so Castiel didn’t press. Dean stretched out his hand, releasing his fist and palming the side of Castiel’s leg instead. Slowly he retracted the touch, flexing his fingers as he returned them to the bridge of his guitar.

He plucked a few strings, thumb grazing the wires. “What’s your favourite? All time.”

Castiel hummed a note. “I don’t have one.”

“Really?”

Castiel graced Dean’s surprise with a nod. “Really. I like a lot of songs, but my favourite depends on the time of day just as much as my mood. Or what I’ve heard recently.”

Dean licked his lips. “Huh.” He glanced at the guitar, strumming a little, before changing tempo and picking up with something completely different, this one slow, careful. “Hey, have you heard this one? Uh, Opshop.”

The tune he was playing wasn’t anything Castiel recognised at first, so he squinted, waiting for the lyrics.

Dean’s smile was simmering as sang, “ _[Absence, make her heart grow fonder... while I’m conquerin’ the last frontier―](https://www.box.com/s/hm96otgqfjpyhh2qi0yw)_ ”

Castiel shook his head as Dean kept playing; Castiel had never heard this before. Dean nodded gently, carrying on, “ _Lately I’ve found myself, wonderin’ out loud... Wondering what I was doing here._ ”

Castiel smiled, able to relate straight away. Dean’s voice moved so smoothly over the lyrics, his lips pulled to the side to bite on the words. Immediately, he was into the chorus, singing, “ _One day you'll understand how much you have me... One day you'll realise, we have it easy..._ ” Their eyes met, Castiel unable to do anything but smile. “ _I can't offer you the future - I don't know it myself... All I can offer you... is me. I'm all I can offer you right now―_ ”

Dean’s hand leapt into a strumming frenzy, pulling out a solo that was more than likely improvised. His eyes were on the carpet, half-closed, a quiet smile on his lips. He looked so at ease, in his element with a guitar just as much as he was when he rode bronco.

His lips parted, and he sang out another verse; “ _Patience, make his heart grow stronger... Reassure him he's where I want to be._ ” He tilted his head towards Castiel, winking, but somehow doing it slowly, his lower lip catching on his teeth for a moment. “ _Never was the grass e-ver greener; I'm about ready as I'll ever be._ ”

Dean adjusted himself on the bed, hooking a leg so he was angled towards Castiel, still playing. Castiel felt their legs touch, but then Dean looked uncomfortable, and stood up. His towel fell straight, wrinkled where he’d been sitting on it. He turned to look Castiel in the eye, hand playing endless, infallible notes on the instrument.

Dean laughed suddenly, and returned to where he’d been sitting at the start, shuffling backwards. Their thighs were pressed together now, the body of the guitar resting almost in Castiel’s crotch. Castiel could feel the strum of the guitar, Dean’s elbow knocking his side.

“ _One day, you’ll realise how much... you have me._ ” Dean nudged Castiel, made him look him in the eye. “ _One day you’ll realise, we have it easy. If an expression of love, is what you need to believe―_ ”

Dean stopped playing, lips parted, eyes on Castiel.

One strum, “ _All I can offer you is me._ ” A smile, shy. “ _I’m all I can offer you... right now._ ”

He seemed to leave the song unfinished, and in that moment, Castiel didn’t really care. Dean let out a soft breath, leaned in close and all at once pushed his lips against Castiel’s, eyelashes touching, noses twisting into cheeks to get closer.

Castiel lost himself in that moment. Couldn’t think outside of how perfect this seemed.

Dean’s lips were dry, tongue hot and tentative, Castiel feeling teeth resting on his mouth as Dean released a tiny desperate sound. Castiel rocked his lips over the sound, swallowing it down. He wanted to keep it.

Dean breathed out, nuzzling Castiel’s cheek as he broke the kiss. Castiel remembered to breathe, tongue slipping on his lips, tasting Dean’s toothpaste.

Dean laughed, face turned against Castiel’s. “You taste like pizza.”

Castiel flushed hot, grinning as he ran a hand down his face, dragging his lips. “Sorry.”

“Shh,” Dean hushed, a hand going to rest on the side of Castiel’s neck, playing with his shirt collar. Castiel only realised then that Dean had pulled him in to kiss him using his tie. “It’s okay. There’s, uh... new toothbrushes in the bathroom, under the sink.”

Castiel was dizzy with everything that was happening. It was fast, and so unexpected. He felt weirdly important. And sticky. “May I take a shower?”

Dean huffed a hot breath against Castiel’s throat, mouth over his Adam’s apple. He kissed free, hair tickling Castiel’s ear. “Yeah. Towels are in the shelf.”

Castiel, licking his lips again, slid off the bed and to his feet, socks rumpled under his step. The world was hazy and vague as he made his way to the bathroom, barely able to think.

“Hey, Cas. Take your time, all right? Relax.”

Castiel looked back quickly, gulping as he nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Dean’s smile wasn’t charming the way Castiel knew it from the magazines. Just warm. Honest.

Castiel shut himself into the bathroom with a feeling like a fire in his chest.

His hands went to rest on the edge of the sink, his breath coming shaky over his lips as he met his own eye in the mirror. He was pink on the cheeks, hair tousled, his clothes rumpled, tie askew. He smiled, his lips rising higher on one side. A chuckle broke free, hidden by the sound of the extractor fan already running in the bathroom.

Looking around, Castiel saw Dean’s sky-blue outfit spread between the towel rail and the glass shower door, boots discarded beside the toilet. Castiel found himself a towel, tried not to think much of the fact he was using Dean’s facilities as he relieved himself then stripped naked.

The shower ran hot, the tiles already slippery under Castiel’s feet from Dean’s wash. He sighed into the spray, eyes closed, water beading on his eyelashes.

The soap smelled the same as it had on Dean’s skin.

By the time Castiel was rinsing out the conditioner, he was dancing. Feet firm on the tiles, elbows in the air to rub at his hair, hips swaying. He could hear the edge of a song coming from the other room, and its rhythm shook his bones, a low happiness rising in him.

It didn’t matter that this was Dean Winchester of Heaven Falling. It mattered that this was Dean Winchester, a man who Castiel actually liked, who liked him back.

He grinned into the shower stream, relaxing, but still bursting with excitement for whatever was still to come. He’d go with the flow of it, because this night was going to change his life, and he knew it. It already had.

He found a new toothbrush, and set it down on the flat ceramic when he was done. There was a certain kind of intimacy in using another person’s toothpaste, and he’d enjoyed that little part of this, too.

The red rose that Dean had picked up from the ground in the arena after his performance was lying at the side of the sink. Castiel touched his fingers to the petals, the petals Dean had kissed. His fingertips buzzed.

He dried off, folding his clothes but not putting them back on. He replaced his underwear, however, not wanting to go out there naked besides the towel. He took the rose with him.

He took a deep breath, switched off the light, then opened the door, smiling at what he saw.

Dean lay back on his bed, raptor-patterned boxer-briefs fully visible. His guitar rested on the muscles of his stomach, deft fingers making sweet love to the strings. Castiel put his head down and smirked all the way over to the armchair by the window, glad to see that Dean had drawn the curtains while Castiel was in the shower. Castiel put his folded clothes atop his overcoat, patting them flat.

Bare feet skimming the carpet, Castiel made his way back to the bed.

He met Dean’s eye, watched Dean sit up, not breaking a note as he played. Castiel, with his most meaningful smile, offered Dean the rose.

“It’s re-gifted, but it’s the thought that counts, as I heard it,” he said.

Dean laughed, setting aside the guitar. It clanked as its strings settled, and Dean reached to take the rose between his fingers. “Red for true love, right?”

Castiel stepped closer, his knees touching each of Dean’s at the edge of the bed. “Red in honour of you not dying by bull tonight.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Castiel’s, the green in them clear in the light. “Hmm.” He fiddled with the rose, then set it on top of the guitar, the red against black making a good picture.

Castiel was caught off-guard as Dean’s arms wrapped around his middle, pulling him close enough that Dean drifted on the bedsheets, his legs parting around Castiel’s thighs, and Castiel wobbled to get his balance as his knees were weakened by the edge of the bed against them.

Dean set his stubbled chin in the middle of Castiel’s chest, looking silently up at him. Castiel knew the other man could feel his heartbeat; fast, pounding. Beating for him, he supposed.

Dean leaned his nose closer and put a single kiss to Castiel’s sternum, eyes never leaving Castiel’s. Castiel felt hands on his back, firm and unyielding as he was pulled down to meet Dean’s lips in a second kiss.

Castiel’s eyes shut tight. What did Dean want from him, precisely? Castiel wasn’t here for sex; he’d never wanted only sex from Dean. He wanted to see _who_ Dean was, and while he was surely getting his decade-ancient wish, the speed at which they’d gone from talking to _wanting_ seemed much too―

Dean shoved Castiel up gently, a laugh breaking from between their lips. “You’re thinking too much, man,” Dean told him, eyes crinkled. “I said relax, not start freaking out.”

“I’m... I’m just...” Castiel swallowed, wishing he could swallow down his maturity, as well. With his age had come the need for something _other_ alongside the physical. He couldn’t take this switch.

“Look,” Dean sighed, the smile fading as he tipped his head down. “I don’t do this often. Ever, I mean.” He shook his head, resting his forehead on Castiel’s chest. “I needed something. You were giving that something to me, and I just...” a shrug, “needed more.”

Castiel trailed a loose hand down the back of Dean’s head, thumb going to rest on the column of his spine. “You want to have sex with me?”

Dean’s breath caught, shoulders jarring for an almost imperceptible amount of time. “No. Yes.”

Shaking his head again, Dean raised his chin to meet Castiel’s gaze, Castiel looking down at Dean from less than a foot above.

“I wanna...” Dean lifted a single shoulder, mouth drifting open. “Be close to someone. Ack, it’s kinda stupid―”

“No, it’s not,” Castiel assured him, cupping his jaw with a hand, holding his gaze. “We can do that. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

His appointment tomorrow didn’t count. By all rights, he’d forgotten about it.

Dean smiled. He was so soft in Castiel’s hands, pliant in the way he tipped his face into Castiel’s palm. Dean’s hands slowed their way down Castiel’s hot skin, curling across his sides until they rested on the band of his towel.

Dean’s eyes flicked up. “Can I?”

Castiel nodded, and watched Dean look back to Castiel’s hips, pulling the towel knot apart. The towel crumpled on the floor, and Dean’s eyes lit up, lips rounding. “Dude,” he muttered. “Is that satin?”

Castiel had to look down, checking what he was wearing. His smile awkwardly pulled his lips, but he wasn’t embarrassed. Dean seemed pleased to see pink satin and lace adorning the dip of Castiel’s hip bones, flush to his skin. “Yes.”

Dean’s forefingers ran under the elastic, sliding back and forth to test the stretch. “God, they’re nice.”

Castiel kissed Dean, and it felt like the first time. Dean smiled against him, one hand running into Castiel’s hair, pulling it gently.

As they broke apart, Dean sighed. “You kiss real good.”

Castiel kissed him again, just for that.

Dean pushed his hips against Castiel’s thighs, and Castiel had to abandon their kiss for the chance to look at Dean’s own underwear, having felt a stiffness under the worn cotton. Dean purred out a quiet noise to see Castiel looking, a hand moving to stroke himself through the stretching material.

With a playful glance up, Dean dipped his hand into his own underwear and pulled his rising erection free. A heat travelled Castiel as he saw it, his chest constricting as his own member throbbed against him. “I always imagined you were circumcised.”

Dean laughed, and his teeth bumped Castiel’s nipple, unable to complete whatever pleasure he’d been about to bestow there. “Yeah, well.” Dean tucked his hand around the back of Castiel’s neck, and pulled him close to whisper against his ear, “I’m not.”

Castiel’s toes even buzzed with excitement, now. Their lips met in a friendly way, no longer finding how the other worked. Castiel’s tongue became more and more familiar with Dean’s, with his taste; even through the toothpaste, Castiel knew what Dean’s flavour was.

“Cas?” Dean smacked their lips as he drove his kiss away, nose to Castiel’s neck. “Can I wear them? Your panties?”

Castiel breathed against Dean’s tanned shoulder, kissing a freckle, then another.

“Just for a bit,” Dean continued. “Maybe take them off while I prep, but... uh. Wanna wear them when we do it.”

Castiel felt the heat on Dean’s face as he rubbed his cheek against Castiel’s nipple. Castiel kissed the top of his head, nodding. There was something magical about Dean. A monster in the arena, a lover in the bedroom; a curious streak in his touches.

Dean nudged Castiel away, then slid off the bed and landed on his feet, hooking his thumbs under his waistband to start to pull his boxers down. Castiel, with his eyes on Dean, did the same.

Naked now, Castiel fiddled with the soft material of his underwear, watching it change hands as Dean slowly pried it away, both of them watching the pink satin sway in his grip, a tender weight to it. Dean hummed an appreciative note as he lifted a foot and stepped into a leg hole, then the other. Castiel’s eyes followed the spread of his thumbs as he slung them back and forth, riding the waistband up his near-hairless legs.

They sat snug against Dean’s well-defined buttocks, the elasticated lace a good fit on his middle. Castiel was wider at the hip, but the muscle on Dean’s slim abdomen made up for the difference.

Castiel casually - gingerly - ran a flat hand down Dean’s lower back, feeling where smooth skin fell into the tight lace.

Dean let Castiel’s nervous hand cup against his ass, middle finger finding the dip of it. Dean’s heat was obvious through the cloth, and Castiel looked up with desire in his eyes as he found Dean looking back at him.

“Here,” Dean whispered, turning his face away to grab his own underwear off the bed. “You wanna wear these?”

Castiel chuckled as he removed his palm from Dean’s backside and found his hand instead filled with tiny raptors. “I don’t think they have quite the same sexual appeal.”

“Yeah, they do,” Dean tutted, a light touch taking Castiel by the backs of the wrists. “You’d be wearing my underwear. That’s sexy, right?”

Castiel smirked, giving his agreement in the way he slid the underwear up his legs, letting the band snap firm against his flat stomach. It pulled at his pubic hair, but the cloth was form-fitting, and still warm from Dean. He did rather like them.

Dean ran fingertips down the covered line of Castiel’s erection, thumb creasing the cotton against Castiel’s scrotum. Castiel kept his eyes on the way Dean looked down, both of them still reserved, testing.

“Um,” Dean said, a tiny grin gracing his face before it dissipated.

Castiel sidled into his space, their hips bumping, then stilling against each other, each of them able to feel the other’s meat through the cloth.

Castiel nosed into Dean’s cheek. “If there’s something you want... please tell me?”

Dean’s trembling lips found Castiel’s, a long kiss washing Castiel’s body with renewed heat; there was no desperation, only a wish and a yearning, the knowledge being that they would both be satisfied by the end of this. At least, Castiel wanted it to go that way, and he had a good idea that Dean saw it like that, too.

Dean kissed him away, the softest cradle of fingers against the bristle of Castiel’s jaw. “I don’t wanna hurry this, because this is great - but what I said before, about... doing it.”

“Mm-hm?”

Dean pecked Castiel’s mouth. “I kinda want that. Now, maybe. If that’s okay.”

Castiel smiled, nodding. Of course it was okay.

Dean sighed, licking his lips with his pink tongue as he backed away, scurrying backwards over the bed on his ass, heels rucking up the top sheet. He sat up halfway up the bed, looking at Castiel with dark eyes. Castiel never thought he’d see this picture, but he loved it better now than he ever did before.

With careful hands, Castiel removed the guitar and the red rose from the bed, walking to set the instrument upright against Dean’s stack of books, then putting the rose on the nightstand, beside a digital clock which read 11:11pm.

Castiel made a wish on that perfect number: for this night to continue the way it was going, for it to make him as happy as it was doing now. For satisfaction. Satisfaction that went beyond the mattress, the kind that would make his life go by as easily as the Texas sun had fallen behind the mountains tonight.

Castiel crooked a knee onto the bed and crawled over to Dean, who lay back, spine curling as he spread himself for Castiel to look at. Castiel shuffled until they lay parallel; his knees pressed to Dean’s bowlegged thigh, Castiel’s bent elbow beside Dean’s head.

Dean’s lower lip rested between the white tips of his teeth, his eyes soft and hungry as they travelled down Castiel’s body. His throat pulled up as his eyes lingered on Castiel’s erection; the head of his cock was poking beyond the band, Castiel knew it without looking.

Dean put a hand between his own open legs and stroked himself, fingers dictating the edge of his member, showing his shape under the cloth. It was pressed to one side, the fabric unable to cover his whole length, and as his erection grew stronger, his cockhead peeked out from one leg hole, a messy smear of liquid touching the very top of his thigh.

Castiel’s heart was racing, and he wasn’t even sure how it still had blood to pump, given what was happening between his legs.

“I wanna say somethin’,” Dean muttered, gaze catching on Castiel’s lips. “But I don’t know what to say. You should talk.”

Castiel grinned slowly, watching Dean release himself and struggle over past Castiel’s side, noisily pulling out the drawer of his nightstand and removing a clear bottle of liquid, and two square condom packets, which made a snappy sound as they touched down to the wood of the stand.

“I don’t know what you would like to hear,” Castiel admitted. “I’ve lived a boring life, failed everything I ever tried.”

“How about, what’s your favourite colour?” Dean asked, jokily. He slid back to the middle of the bed, a hand hesitating before it moved to Castiel’s side and tugged him closer. Castiel shuffled forward on command, pressed his body to Dean’s hip, splitting his legs apart to let Dean spread his own.

“Green,” Castiel said. He looked Dean in the eye, raising his eyebrows. “A very particular shade.”

Dean paused as he was removing the panties, and he blinked. “Blue. Right now... I really like blue.” He lifted his face to press his lips to Castiel’s, then sighed as he flopped back to the bed, making quick work of his underwear.

Dean didn’t see Castiel’s smile, but Castiel was definitely smiling. A lot.

Legs apart now, Dean swept a hand and plucked a condom from the nightstand, tearing its packet and tucking the latex over two of his fingers. Castiel wasn’t sure what he was doing at first, but as Dean flipped the cap of the lubricant and coated those same fingers, Castiel understood.

“Should I do that?” Castiel asked, leaning to kiss Dean’s neck.

Dean gave a tense smile, his shoulder bumping Castiel’s nose as he shrugged. “Nah, it’s―” He gave a little grunt and a wince as his fingers found their mark, wrist crooked between his open legs. “It’s fine. I got it.”

Castiel peppered Dean’s neck with small kisses, enjoying the warmth of his skin under his lips. The skin of Dean’s chest was nourished well, tanned less than his cheeks, but more than below his hipline. His forearms were the darkest, and yet somehow, he still seemed pale, the Texan sun only kissing his freckles the same way Castiel did, not bathing him like it did for everyone else in the crowd tonight.

Castiel swallowed, his eyes roaming the star-map of Dean’s freckles, seeing how distinguished they were from the rest of him. They painted his cheeks and shoulders, and Castiel imagined they would descend across his back, too.

Dean winced again, letting out a short, aborted breath through his nose. He was staring at the ceiling, gnawing at the inside of his lip.

“I can do that if you want,” Castiel repeated, a hand trailing Dean’s abdomen, his ring finger sliding into his navel, then away again. “Try to relax.”

Dean’s tense smile came up again, his jaw twitching. “I’ve got it, seriously. Hey - hey, hands off,” he snapped, and Castiel removed his hand from where it had dragged Dean’s inner thigh. Dean puffed out a breath, eyes falling shut. “Sorry, man. This isn’t my favourite part of sex, is all.”

“It’s not hurting you?” Castiel asked, resting his chin on Dean’s collarbone.

Dean shook his head. “Uncomfortable. I mean, I can take three of my fingers right now, but it’s... Ugh. Jeez, when I said talk to me, I didn’t mean about this.” He turned his face away, agitated.

“Have you... Do you touch your prostate?” Castiel asked, a frown creasing his forehead. He’d not realised other men didn’t enjoy that the same way he always did.

Dean scoffed, still looking away. “Chuh. ‘Course.”

Watching the way Dean’s breaths lifted his tattoo, Castiel asked, “Have you ever let someone else prep you?”

Dean shook his head, and even from where Castiel nestled against him, he could tell Dean’s eyes were open, staring at the side wall. He was self-conscious about this, nervous about the questions.

“May I?”

Dean wriggled away from Castiel’s hand. “Look, I said I wanted to be close or whatever, but your fingers in my ass is a little bit too close, if you catch my drift.”

Castiel stared in confusion at Dean’s awkward position, arm curled across himself to reach his ass, face turned away. “And having a man’s dick in your ass _isn’t_ too close?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, and immediately he rolled back, looking sadly at Castiel, a gulp showing up the taut muscle in his throat. “The first guy I slept with said it was gross. He didn’t wanna... y’know, put his fingers in there.” A wet noise met Castiel’s ears, and he looked down to see Dean removing his fingers, condom loose and ragged. Dean flicked it over the side of the bed, a harsh breath escaping his mouth.

“It’s clean down there, I just don’t like having to wash my hands after prepping,” Dean murmured. “Have at it, if you wanna.”

Castiel was surprised by Dean’s change of heart, but appreciated it deeply. With a tender kiss falling on Dean’s lips, Castiel took the bottle of lube in hand and poured some on his hand.

“You wanted intimacy,” Castiel told the other man, voice deep and slow. “There’s not many things I can think of more intimate than this.”

Dean’s breath stopped completely as Castiel’s fingers found his hot open hole, a single fingertip grazing its soft edge. Dean’s eyes fell shut, mouth open, as Castiel slid that finger inside, no need to see what he was doing.

Heat surrounded his finger, a clear empty slide that enveloped him beautifully, the slick of the lubrication making it effortless.

Dean whimpered, and Castiel felt satin shift against his wrist as Dean’s cock twitched.

Castiel made it slow, taking care with that one finger, giving no care to the excess lube that dangled its way off his hand and onto the bedspread. He slid with the care he would take with himself - more, even. He went deep enough that he was swallowed to his third knuckle, his other fingers finding the air cold in comparison, despite the summer heat.

Dean had relaxed, miraculously. It seemed to have been a conscious effort, his breath now being taken in through his nose, out through pursed lips. His hands lay useless, one resting on Castiel’s thigh, not moving at all.

Castiel inserted another finger, hearing the soft breath of a noise that Dean released, too gentle for a moan, too vocal for a sigh.

“Is this good?”

Dean’s parted lips curved in a minute smile. “So good. N― mm. Never thought... This is different.” His words came almost nonsensical, breathy. He seemed to be in a trance-like state, and Castiel wasn’t sure if Castiel had taken him there or if Dean had gone there himself.

Castiel worked him until he braved another finger, he himself relaxing under the ministrations. He leant his cheek on Dean’s chest, comfortably resting on the swell of muscle around his nipple.

Dean made a sound every so often, a shuddering moan, a sigh. Castiel used his other hand to touch both their erections on occasion, enough to keep them both hard.

When Castiel could twist four fingers with no more than a shiver from Dean, he knew it was almost time. He removed his hand, then replaced two of those fingers, thumb set into Dean’s perineum for guidance.

Dean’s eyes were closed, and if it weren’t for the constant nibbling he gave his lower lip, Castiel would have thought him asleep. In any case, he was about to be awakened.

Castiel crooked those two fingers, cautious. He did it so Dean wouldn’t know what hit him; he dragged them, still stretching the muscle innocently, until he found the specific spot he was searching for.

He went light; feather-light.

Dean’s legs curled up slightly, a stuttered moan breaching his lips. His eyes didn’t open, he just lay back down.

With a sly smirk, Castiel pushed honey-trickle tonguing kisses to Dean’s throat, the sound of his lips to skin just as ravishing as the slick noises coming from below.

Another sweep of Dean’s prostate, just as gentle. Dean’s breath caught, eyelids flickering.

Another. Then once more, immediately after.

Dean rocked his head against the mattress, a quiet moan breaking free. “Oh, god.”

“Not God, just me,” Castiel whispered, lips falling to Dean’s ear, mouthing at it, tiny kisses and licks curling its shell.

Another crook, just as light, barely a touch at all. Dean cried out, eyebrows shooting up.

Castiel couldn’t withhold now, he ached to set Dean free. He repeated the stroke, once, twice, thrice, grabbing Dean’s thigh so he couldn’t writhe away. Dean started breathing heavily, the gasps from his mouth becoming shouts as Castiel rolled his fingers again, twitching, touching.

Gentle as falling snow. As dust motes in a forest. As his kisses to Dean’s heart.

“Cas - Cas!” Dean barked, legs shaking, eyes showing only the faintest green through their slits, hands clutching at the sheets. “Christ! Cas, fuck!”

Castiel was undoing Dean like a set of buttons, and he’d never felt this hungry for another person’s pleasure in his life. His hips rocked against Dean’s side, wetness spreading where he leaked; Dean was hard and pushed tight against his own stomach, one hand clutching his knee to keep it up so Castiel could reach.

Light, gentle, fingers as soft as anything.

“Oh god. Oh god, Cas...” Dean’s breathing was irregular, clawing at air like a desperate cat, whimpers in his exhales. “Cas, I love you, I love you... Fuck, please... please...”

Castiel’s heart struck hard, mouth hanging loose as he groaned too, the slick of Dean on his hands and the desperation in his voice going through his body like lightning. Dean bucked, and Castiel lost his place in him, but took the moment to roll atop the other man, hand sliding inside again to find the nub once more.

Dean’s eyes locked to Castiel’s, the colour of them devoured by darkness, longing. He wailed a broken, helpless sound, eyes rolling back in his head. “Cas...”

Castiel kissed his lips, smirking as Dean was unable to kiss back, too gone on the sensations Castiel blessed him with. Laughing ever so quietly, Castiel removed his hand.

“No... C- Cas, please...” Dean breathed, physically shaking now. “Need it...”

Castiel grinned, biting down on his lip as he stood up, toes curled. “I’ll be back in a minute. You’d rather my hands be clean, I think.”

Dean moaned, almost boneless as he struggled to sit up on his elbows, head relaxed against his shoulders. “Fuuuck,” he cried after Castiel, a weak laugh tagged on the end. “I fucking hate you!”

Castiel laughed as he turned the bathroom tap on, running warm water and soap over his pad-wrinkled hand, rubbing his fingers clean. “That’s not what you were screaming a minute ago.”

Dean’s exhilarated laugh met Castiel’s hearing, as did the thump of the mattress as Dean lay back down. “Fuck...”

Castiel caught sight of his own heated expression in the mirror, lit from behind, the light of Dean’s room catching random strands of dark hair in gold. His features seemed displaced; eyes turned in just such a way that made him look happier than he’d looked in years. He barely recognised himself, but in a way, he knew it was the man he’d always been. Dean had sort of... stripped away that outer Castiel, reached in and rescued the real one.

Beaming, Castiel dried his clean hands and returned to the bedroom, flipping off the extractor fan as he went. The room seemed quieter now, hollow desert ambience from outside seeping under the door. Dean’s soft chuckle broke the silence, his disarrayed hair poking up from the bed as he lifted his head.

“Time to ride me, cowboy,” Dean drawled, a more obvious accent coating his words. Then he laughed again, curling up on the sheet. “Jesus Christ, I can’t do it.”

“Can’t?”

Dean sat up, a lopsided grin on his face, raising an arm to haul Castiel close as he got back to the bed. “I can’t do that spiel, the whole ‘ride ‘em cowboy’ thing. I don’t really wanna fuck, y’know?” The shrugging expression on his face came across as boyish, far younger than he really was.

“You don’t?”

Dean beamed, rolling on top of Castiel and pressing him into the mattress, one leg between Castiel’s and nudging at his boner. “Nah.”

They kissed, and Dean pulled away, turned onto his back and spread his legs again, eyes still on Castiel. “Make love to me?”

The moment the words were out of Dean’s mouth, his eyelids fluttered, mouth going slack as he exhaled. Slowly, his dark gaze met Castiel’s, lust-drenched and shadowed.

“I think I get off on that,” Dean breathed. “That whole love-makin’ thing.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Castiel took the second condom packet in hand, then the bottle of lube, as he crawled his way to between Dean’s legs. “Mutual satisfaction?”

Dean harrumphed, giving a quick shrug. “Not really what I meant, but, yeah, I guess.”

Castiel let Dean take the condom packet, his parted legs shuffling as he bucked closer. Castiel watched Dean tear the foil then reach for Castiel’s crotch, fingertips smoothing over Castiel’s cockhead, edging the boxer-briefs down. Castiel sat up, and Dean pushed the boxers down past his ass, so they sat snugly against the crease of his butt, hugging his scrotum.

Dean’s gaze crawled over Castiel’s cock, taking in the sight of it. Castiel waited patiently, enjoying the attention Dean gave him, at first just with his eyes, then with a tentative hand.

The strokes started short, then Dean’s grip tightened, his hand sure of itself as he began pumping him, thumb sliding upward into Castiel’s slit, firm pressure against the head, squeezing out a little pre-fluid. Dean leaned in to breathe hot air over Castiel’s cock, deliberate in its sensation.

Dean’s gaze flicked up quickly, met Castiel’s eye. “Can I suck?”

Castiel shook his head. “Haven’t been tested. I wouldn’t.”

Dean nodded in understanding, eyes on his task as he fiddled with the condom. “Now,” he said, casting his eyes to the lube and plucking it into his hand, doing a snazzy twirl until he held it upside down and could flip the lid open, “I learned this little trick from something called the internet. Should feel a little better for you.”

He set a drop of lube in the inside tip of the condom, then clapped the lube closed, and with his fingers pinching at the latex, he rolled the condom neatly over Castiel’s erection, no fuss or hesitation.

Dean gave him a few downwards strokes, pushing out the side air bubbles. With a proud smirk at Castiel, he leaned in and set his mouth loosely over the head, tongue flat and shivering against it.

The heat of his tongue flooded Castiel, painted with inner pleasure that made his hips rock, a low growl falling past his lips. Dean only sucked him a little, before he moved away, hand still skating Castiel’s length.

Castiel’s fingers curled in Dean’s sun-lightened hair, stroking the base of his neck. Both of their skin was flushed hot, magnetised to each other.  
“C’mon,” Dean whispered, lips grazing the bone of Castiel’s hip. “C’mon, baby.”

Castiel couldn’t help but snort. “Baby? Really?”

Dean shot Castiel a scandalised look. “Not good?”

“Do I look like a baby?” Castiel gestured at himself, at his stiff erection, at the underwear bunched around his hips.

Dean bit his lip on a grin, laughing quietly as he glanced away. “Guess not.” He suddenly skipped his leg around Castiel, hopping off the bed and leaning to pick up the pink panties, flipping them the right way round.

Castiel watched in fascination as he was treated to a reverse striptease, as Dean wriggled the panties back on, eyes locked, a wicked grin on Dean’s lips as he sang, “ _[Don’t - call - me - baby... You got some nerve, and baby, that'll never do... You know I don't belooong to you; It's time you knew I'm not - your - baby... I belong to me, so don't - call - me - baby.](https://www.box.com/s/nzda896qhv5d5iq9dvvp)_ ”

Dean sang the last word and snapped the elastic to his hips. The panties hopelessly attempted to contain his manhood, but it extended the rim by at least an inch. Dean smiled down at himself, then at Castiel, as he pressed his knees against the side of the bed.

“I haven’t heard that song in years,” Castiel realised.

Dean purred, resting his weight on his fingertips as he leaned forward. “Get off the bed, maybe?”

Castiel looked around him, then realised Dean wanted Castiel to take him from behind. Feeling an excited lurch in his gut, Castiel tripped off the mattress and curled up around Dean’s back, pressing kiss upon kiss to his bare shoulders.

“Lube,” Dean rasped, reaching for the bottle, but Castiel got it instead.

Coating his fingers, then his cock, Castiel slicked himself back to full stiffness, the sound of his hand against the condom very different to the sound of skin on skin. Mouth open against Dean’s neck, Castiel rolled against him, fingers wriggling under one leg hole to find Dean’s opening.

“Pull them down a bit, go over the top of the band,” Dean whispered, rocking his hips into empty air. He swallowed, then let out a quiet groan. “Shit, hurry up. Want it real bad.”

Castiel did as Dean said, shifting the panties so they rested in the same place the boxers were on him, pressing into the crease below his ass. His finger slipped against Dean’s hole, not pushing inside, just teasing. Dean swayed his feet apart, elbows sinking into the mattress as he leaned forward, bracing himself.

He groaned again, and Castiel saw his bowed thighs shaking. As Castiel lined the head of his cock up, he thought about how Dean had become vulnerable like this, so drastically different to the man who clamped his thighs to bulls for a living. That muscle was of no use now; every part of Dean’s body became weak as Castiel slipped inside him.

Dean moaned, long and low, forehead falling against the bed. “Caaas...”

Castiel’s eyelids batted, lost in the sound of his name falling like a prayer from lips that he’d dreamed of hearing say that name. Dean was open and hot for him, clenching around him, sucking him deeper.

Castiel felt sparks under his skin as he sank to his hilt, hip bones pushed to Dean’s smooth, firm ass, hands tight on the sides of Dean’s hips, fingertips on the soft dip below the bone. He heard the slap of skin; Dean was getting himself off as Castiel hitched himself back, sank in again.

Castiel felt a tremor of helplessness, and lay over the other man, breathing against his back as he rolled into him, hips dragging, circling. Smooth and deep.

Unbelievable.

“Cas... Mm.” Dean was still shaking, humping the edge of the bed now. “Say somethin’, please. Anything.”

“You’re beautiful,” Castiel whispered, teeth open without force against Dean’s shoulder blade. “Your freckles... I wish I could kiss you, for every freckle I count, I want to kiss...”

Dean slid forward until he was lying face-down on the bed, hands fisting the sheet. “Kiss me... Right now, do it.”

Castiel exhaled, already tasting the flavour of those freckles. Soap from the shower, sweat as sweet as spring water, skin as golden as the south-western sun. He muttered a long note as he kissed, feeling himself swept and swallowed into Dean’s body as they moved together, Dean rocking back as Castiel rocked forward to meet him.

Dean’s lips parted and he let free another pleasured sound, and it was so clear to Castiel how much Dean enjoyed this.

“Cas... Can we―” Dean gasped, knuckles turning white as they clutched his sheets, “Bed. Get on the bed.”

Castiel sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he tried to pull their joined bodies apart, his frown descending automatically as he found himself with nothing to push inside, Dean’s hole empty and clenching before him.

Dean grappled with a wrecked sound as he climbed to the middle of the bed, turning around with a feral darkness in his eyes, silently begging Castiel to come closer. Castiel went without thinking, lying down where Dean pushed him, relaxing as Dean climbed on top of him, straddling him.

Dean sank his lips against Castiel’s and sucked gently, mouthing round shapes and licking patterns against Castiel’s teeth as Castiel breathed into him.

Dean’s eyelashes drew lines down Castiel’s cheek, a gritty sound dragged from Dean’s throat as Castiel wrapped a hand around his length, feeling his swell, the heavy weight filling his palm.

The heat seemed to be everywhere; beautiful inside Castiel, the scent of their desire in the air.

Castiel dipped his fingertip under Dean’s foreskin as it tugged up. He swirled a circle under it, causing a buck of Dean’s hips, a surge of his mouth against Castiel’s.

“Mm,” Dean murmured, slinking away for a moment, midriff carrying over Castiel’s face. Castiel lifted his head to kiss Dean’s tummy, but could only do it for a second before Dean sat back, ass pressed to Castiel’s thighs. Dean had a brown cowboy hat in hand, a half-moon notch removed from the front curve of its brim.

Dean twirled it on a finger, then set it on his head with a practised hand. “How’s about that pony ride?”

Castiel near-enough giggled, the laugh turning to a purr as Dean leaned in to put kisses on his jaw, the trail of them meandering to his lips. A hand pulled Castiel’s cock at the base, and Castiel closed his eyes in delight at the feeling of Dean sinking down onto him, his own hands guiding him in.

“Mmm... more lube,” Dean groaned, the words dragging his voice. Castiel swiped up the bottle in a second, Dean lifting himself up and taking the bottle to squirt some liquid onto Castiel’s cock - _cold_ \- before the bottle was thrown back down, cap closing by itself as it hit the mattress.

Dean sank down, taken whole and deep this time, Castiel’s cock throbbing with his heartbeat as Dean hollowed around him, holding him tight, _hot_.

Dean sighed into the air, and Castiel cracked his eyes open enough to watch Dean put a hand on his hat, holding it there as he tipped his head back, humping up, down, fucking himself on Castiel.

Castiel clutched his hands to Dean’s thighs, rubbing the light fuzz of hair there. Muscle sat firm under his grip, rocking only as Dean moved, up, down, enshrouding Castiel in his heat. Dean called out a sharp sound, mouth open, eyes only peeking at Castiel as he rode him; Castiel openly watched the other man bob, thrills and scattering pleasure finding his whole body just to see the expression on Dean’s face, hearing his noises.

“Oh... shit, shit, Cas...” Dean put both hands against Castiel’s middle now, pressing firmly, out of desperation or just the need to grab at something. His hips bucked hard enough that his cock bounced on the upthrust, hitting his abdomen, then Castiel’s, in turn.

The pink panties were bunched up, hiding Dean’s balls from Castiel’s sight, muffling the sensation every time Dean smacked his body down to meet Castiel’s. Dean moved a single hand to grab at them, screwing the satin into his palm, tugging at them from below, keeping them out of the way so they didn’t chafe as their bodies rolled against each other. He made tiny whimpering noises as he rubbed his thumb on the material, eyelashes fluttering, giving Castiel a good idea of how much he enjoyed this.

Castiel moaned, feeling guilty at the sound, but was encouraged when Dean gave a sigh in response, rhythm changing.

“S... Say my name,” Dean growled out, letting go of the panties and falling on top of Castiel, still rolling down against him, cock sliding in, out, filling him up then emptying him, making them both want more. “Cas, say my name!”

Castiel puffed out a rough breath, grating on his own throat. He couldn’t obey, too wary of his own vocalisations. Dean may have been the one being filled, but he was still in charge of this, probably the more experienced one when it came to sexual display; Castiel was quiet in bed, and now was no exception.

Dean grunted, a hot hand grabbing at Castiel’s hair, pulling it. His green eyes were shaded by the cowboy hat, but Castiel could see the lust in them, the continued need. “Caaas...” Dean’s voice cracked on his name, cock starting to rub at Castiel’s pubic hair, all intention to ride Castiel forgotten.

Now that Dean’s face was close to him, Castiel felt braver; he didn’t have to cry out loudly like Dean did, he need only whisper. With his vision wrinkled by pleasure, his nose nudged at the side of Dean’s rocking head, lips dragging the edge of Dean’s ear. “Dean...”

Dean whined. “Oh, do it... say it...”

Castiel wrapped his arms over Dean’s lower back, smearing sweat, grasping the hills of Dean’s ass and rolling him upward. “Dean... oh god, Dean...”

Dean breathed a fire across Castiel’s shoulder, desperate, honest gasps riding between their skin. “Make love to me... oh Cas.”

Castiel didn’t know what he was meant to be feeling. It was beautiful, the way those words touched him, but he and Dean were new to each other - or, at least, Castiel was new for Dean. And even this man, the Dean Winchester who rode atop Castiel, sheets puddling at their sides - he wasn’t the same man Castiel thought he loved, once. This man was better. Real, no longer a fantasy.

Love should be too much, but Castiel found it easy.

Why should it not be true that Dean found it easy, as well?

With a kiss, Castiel rolled them over, for once taking full control. Dean released a soft, needy sound, cowboy hat flipping loose as his back met the bed. Castiel set a handhold around Dean’s hip, one arm banded under his cowboy’s shoulder, holding him tight.

With a heavy roll of his body, a deep groan at the back of his throat, Castiel began to make love to Dean, stuffing him full with a gentle touch, dipping into his mouth with a curious tongue, nose to a cheek before he turned it.

Dean breathed out a cry on every thrust, letting Castiel have anything he cared to take. Dean’s legs notched up over Castiel’s back, heel pushing the boxers down until his ankle rested in the groove of Castiel’s ass.

A shaking hand caressed the back of Castiel’s head, and Castiel lifted his face to look Dean in the eye. They watched each other as they swayed deep, the bed creaking now, a thump coming from somewhere below every time Castiel turned his strokes back, ready for another dive forward.

Dean’s eyes twinkled, a sweetness in his gaze that Castiel understood by human instinct, but he had never seen that look in someone’s eyes when they looked at _him_.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, no point to it but to say his name. “Cas.”

Castiel smiled, joy in his body and soul. He couldn’t believe that tears would come to his eyes, but they did, and he buried his chin in the jut of Dean’s neck and shoulder, smiling into him. Joy, yes, but physical pleasure was eroding at him so intensely that he was vibrating.

“Love you,” Dean pressed, lips on the side of Castiel’s neck. “God, I fuckin’... Cas...”

Castiel gritted out a moan, hurling towards his peak before he expected it, feeling it creeping higher, scratching at him to let loose. He gasped, frowning as he closed his eyes, trying to push it back down so he could keep going. He didn’t let himself slow, just wanting to sink into Dean forever.

Turning his head, he lapped tiny loving kisses behind Dean’s ear, arms curling tighter, closer, holding Dean to him. Dean squirmed, his breath light and shaking with constant need, whispering, ghostly noises rising from the back of his throat. _Need you, need more. Please don’t stop._

There was no shame in the words Dean said. He was comfortable knowing how much he wanted Castiel inside him, with him. Castiel kissed his lips, with him until the end.

Castiel felt the heat of Dean’s orgasm before he knew it was happening; Dean swallowed down another kiss, the slightest whimper making his swollen lips tremble, and then he fell apart, his weight like the whole sky had fallen into Castiel’s arms.

Castiel grunted, removing his arm from under Dean’s back, sliding flat hands down Dean’s hips, feeling a single splash of liquid where Dean’s release had smeared.

“Pull out,” Dean muttered, sucking on his own lower lip until it slid free, too wet to stay put. “Wanna use my hands.”

Castiel’s corrupted noise lurched from his mouth as he dragged his body apart from Dean; he was so hard, so close, that the separation was painful - all he wanted was release, into Dean, at Dean’s cause.

Dean pinched away the condom, face twitching in slight disgust as he tipped it over the side of the bed. He turned his eye back to the swell of Castiel’s cock, hand going to hold it, and Castiel felt every finger, almost cool, cold, clumsy, in comparison to the depths of Dean’s body; slow, like a glacier, in comparison to the way they had moved together before.

Dean rubbed, doing all the things he knew to do; Castiel bucked into his hand, moaning closed-mouthed as Dean edged up close, shoving the panties down further so they could press their cocks together. Dean was softening, but still twitched as Castiel’s rock-hard stiffness grazed his spent body, Dean humping just a little.

Castiel put his hands behind Dean’s split thighs, trying to crawl against him. Dean let them get close, nose poking Castiel’s chin until he looked up, eyes meeting. Dean smiled, a natural smile that Castiel instantly realised was just for him, his own personal expression of love. Castiel tried to speak but only groaned, his throat tight, longing for Dean to give him release.

Dean’s eyes fell shrouded, and he leaned in, hand never ceasing its destruction of every sense Castiel possessed. Their lips met in a tumble of wills, Castiel wanting to discover, Dean wanting to give. After a few seconds, Castiel just gave in, let Dean guide him in the kiss. Dean slid one hand into his hair, tugging like before, tongue slinking against Castiel’s own.

Castiel could only close his eyes and moan one last time before he was coming, a shot like a bullet splashing heat over Dean’s chest, a droplet touching against Castiel’s own stomach. Dean blurted out a pleased sound, satisfied at the way Castiel groped at his back, hauling him closer, love love love in their kiss, wanting more even past the end.

Dean rolled them both over once more, laying them down. Castiel tangled their legs between each other, ignoring the stickiness touching their chests.

Their kiss didn’t break, only delved deeper, breath gushing over both their cheeks, lips burning hot and sore. Castiel held his hips against Dean’s even when they were both fully flaccid, too sensitive for touch; he just wanted closeness, just like how Dean began by wanting closeness.

The idea of intimacy didn’t begin to cover this for Castiel. There was sex, there was sex between strangers, there was sex between old celebrities and old fans, and then there was lovemaking. It had happened like the first raindrops meeting and falling, the first break of a building storm, something they both needed and wanted but didn’t know how to find until each other. Castiel was dizzy with this knowledge the same way he was before they started - it was like he knew it would end this way, even if he hadn’t been sure.

He’d made love to Dean Winchester, and Dean had made love to him.

Their kisses ran dry, the wholeness in them sliding away to fatigue, and tiny smooches turned to smiles, noses pressed to cheeks, to chins, rubbed against stubble. Hands found hips, found shoulders, breath came slow and gentle once more.

Dean looked at Castiel with the same softness as he had before, none of the feeling evaporated by climax. Castiel kissed him a final time, blinking languidly as he edged his face away.

“Well, that was new,” Dean muttered, a brief, light frown twitching his eyebrows.

“What part?”

Dean’s smile seemed to break his face. “I don’t know. The good thing. The good thing that kind of... happened.”

“Happiness?”

“Is that what you felt?” Dean asked.

Castiel glanced away to the lampshade on the nightstand, then back to Dean, some resolution in place. “Yes.” He lifted one of Dean’s hands and kissed the knuckles, holding his lips there. Dean turned that hand and ran his thumb over Castiel’s bruised lips, plucking them as he slipped his hand away again.

“Yeah,” Dean said, a note of confusion in his voice. “Yeah, happiness.”

Castiel rested their lips together, a lazy kiss he barely felt aside from the burst of Dean’s breath over him.

He was a little hurt that Dean hadn’t felt that before with other lovers. He’d never let them get too close; if that much was true for the physical touches, then it had to be true for the other intimacies they’d just shared.

Castiel sighed, turning so his face hovered above Dean’s, hands placed either side of his head so they could kiss again. Castiel adored Dean’s kisses, he tasted wonderful, and even though every kiss made Castiel’s mouth ache from too many touches, each one was more meaningful than the last. Each one meant they were willing to take another moment to savour the other.

“I can see your halo,” Dean said, curiously. “Heh-heh, look at that.”

Castiel squinted, wondering what Dean was seeing. He was gazing vaguely at Castiel’s head, eyes roaming the edges.

Dean caught his eye, and grinned. He pointed a finger to Castiel’s hair, glancing at it as he explained, “The light’s behind your head. You’re shiny. Real angel, huh?”

Castiel smiled into the kiss, sighing as he pulled away completely this time, flopping over onto his aching back and looking at the lampshades that Dean had been looking at. The spiderwebs on them sagged low, drifting in the air currents.

“Hey, bring that thing up - yeah, the blanket,” Dean said, waggling a hand towards the foot of the bed.

Castiel scrambled back alongside Dean, kicking back the top sheet until it was loose enough to pull over them both. With a smile, Castiel settled down on his side of the bed, Dean on the side closer to the door and the nightstand.

Dean let out a quiet, satisfied grumble as he sank his head into the pillow, grabbing it and repositioning it. Castiel took the moments Dean was distracted to slide his hands under the sheet and adjust his boxer-briefs, tucking himself under the band and snapping the elastic back to his hips. He turned back to Dean to see him doing the same, one arm lifting the sheet so he could see what he was doing.

Then Dean muttered something barely intelligible about cleaning himself up, and slid out of bed, his face twinging as he hobbled his first few steps to the bathroom. Castiel cleaned himself up with the corner of the sheet while he waited for Dean to come back, tiredness slowly swooping down on him as he waited, falling deep and warm around him, but then all at once, Dean was back, the mattress sinking under his weight.

Dean smiled when he was lying down again, looking over with that friendly glint in his eye. He rolled onto his side, facing Castiel, and Castiel moved close enough that Dean could drape an arm over him.

Dean looked surprised.

“How come I didn’t have to say anything?” he asked, eyes on Castiel’s lips. “Nobody ever does this with me ‘cause they think I don’t want to, or they don’t want to, or - god, I dunno. But you just wriggle your ass over here and start snuggling.”

“You want to, then.”

Dean murmured an affirmative, getting himself even closer and burying his face against Castiel’s lower shoulder. His whisper came secretive, almost censured. “Love it.”

Castiel was surrounded by Dean’s arms, Dean’s whole body moulding to him, thigh resting against Castiel’s crotch, feet sneaking until they were locked between each other. Dean’s toes curled up, a tension that Castiel guessed was more from lingering excitement than any kind of distress. Dean was as limp as a ragdoll beside him.

Castiel felt protective; Dean had placed himself into a position where Castiel became his shell, a shield. Castiel was not exactly a slighter man; he was less muscled, yes, from no time at all spent riding bulls, but he was far from bony. Their heights were much the same, Dean perhaps an inch or two taller - in their teenage years, Castiel had calculated Dean was at least five inches taller, which was no longer true. When Castiel was holding Dean now, Dean made himself small, giving himself to Castiel in a way that he could only interpret as trusting.

Castiel couldn’t imagine that the amount of men or women Dean had taken up this position with was any more than a few. Maybe none at all, besides himself.

Castiel put a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Tell me about yourself?”

Dean sniggered. “What part? You’ve gone spelunking in my butt, you’ve tongued my tonsils down, you’ve heard me screaming in the throes of passion; what else is there to tell?”

Castiel kissed Dean’s eyelid. “What’s the most important thing to you?”

“Ha. You’ve read the magazines, what did they all say?”

“The music. God, your faith. Your mother, before she passed. Your fans. And your bandmates.”

“Bandmates, sure.” Dean rumbled a gruff laugh, mouth closed. “They’re more than my bandmates, they were then and they are now.”

“Your family.”

“Yeah. My brothers. Adam ‘n Sammy. I dunno what I’d do without them, you know? And now Benny and Gabe.”

“They’re the only people who hear your music now.”

Dean was quiet for a little while, then let go of a breath that Castiel hadn’t noticed he was holding onto. “Yeah.”

Castiel sensed a ‘but’ in there. “What is it?”

Dean licked his lips, pausing even longer. “You, uh―” He cleared his throat. “You know I said I wanted to write.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Songs. Wanna write songs.”

“About sex and pain and bulls kissing under cherry trees,” Castiel recalled.

Dean laughed. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s not chart-topping crap, it’s just... music.”

Castiel squeezed him around his shoulders. “You should do it.”

Dean swallowed. “Heh. Bronco... Riding bulls. That’s the most dangerous sport that exists, you know that?”

“It looked it, yes.”

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “I only ever broke one bone. My thigh. Snapped clean in half almost, doctor said I’d never walk again, but I was like, hell no. Sammy helped me out, never knew a kid to be that doting, ‘specially to someone who was such an ass to him when he grew up.” Dean butted his head into Castiel’s throat like a cat, wriggling closer. “He had me up and walking in just over a month.”

“Missouri told me that, yes.”

“Sammy didn’t want me to keep going with the rodeo, tried to get me to quit. But I figure I got an angel lookin’ out for me. Everyone else doing this show, or any bronco show... god, they’re all broken, they’ve all got something that doesn’t work right. Some of ‘em end up dead. Maybe I’m trying to push that angel’s limits. See how far they’ll go before they give up and let me snap myself in half.”

Castiel rubbed Dean’s back, smooth skin making a delicious sliding sound, the dip of his lower back gorgeous in itself. Dean seemed comforted by the touch, at least, relaxing back into Castiel’s hand.

“Sometimes I wonder how long I’ll do this.” Dean fingered Castiel’s shoulder; Castiel’s response was to stop rubbing, and Dean stopped poking him. “I don’t wanna be the old guy who’s still flipping cows across the dirt, there’s a point where you should really just call it a day and kick your legs up on a rocking chair someplace. Watch the sunrise, go fishing.”

Castiel said nothing, just listening.

“You ever think about... how easy it would be? Just to stop what you’re doing, decide it’s enough. Change your life?”

“Yes, I do. I think about that all the time,” Castiel whispered, hearing the longing in his voice.

“Why don’t we just do it?”

“Change?”

“Yeah. Pack up the business and take a road trip. Buy a house and build a rocking chair. Get married. Fly to the moon, God knows what. Anything. Instead I’m throwing myself through the gates of the underworld every week, hoping something’ll pull me back.”

“Maybe we’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Dean said with the defiance of a child, eyes lifting to look straight at Castiel. They stared for a while, Castiel having nothing to say, and Dean saying nothing.

Dean eventually closed his eyes, tipping his face away, then turning over, breaking Castiel’s arms from him. Castiel panicked for a second as Dean stepped out of the bed, but then realised he was going to get the light. First he turned on the lamp beside the bed, shining a masked white glow across the walls, before he slapped his hand to the motel room’s light switch, plunging the rest of the room into a sudden gloom. The lamplight filled the shadows after a moment as Castiel’s eyes adjusted, and he watched Dean clamber back into bed.

He lay on his back, facing slightly away from Castiel.

Castiel guessed it was some sort of test. He chanced it, and moved closer, into the part of the bed where Dean was lying before, the sheets still warm. He curled himself around Dean’s turned back, one hand on the side of his panties, one sliding between Dean’s head and the cool pillow.

Dean chuckled. “God, I love you.”

“Do you mean that?” Castiel asked with a playful smile. He didn’t think he would mind either way; he just liked to hear it, and in the moment, Castiel still loved him back. After tonight, it only meant something that Dean said the words.

Dean snuggled backwards, sinking into the dips of Castiel’s embrace. “Yeah.”

Castiel’s eyelashes skittered Dean’s jaw, a kiss touching the nock of it where it turned towards his ear. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered again, a hand sliding to slip between Castiel’s fingers, locked between the webs. “Wasn’t love at first sight, but I got there.”

Castiel glanced at the clock. 12:02. “You’ve known me less than an hour-and-a-half.”

“You’ve known Dean Winchester for years, and yet you still fell in love with a new man in about the same amount of time.”

Castiel smiled, looking upward at nothing. “Yeah, that’s true.” He kissed Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t seem scared by it.”

“Are you scared by it?”

“Yes.”

Dean smiled, Castiel felt it against his fingers that acted as Dean’s pillow. “I’ve given up being scared by my feelings. Only leads to hesitation, and that only leads to regret and disappointment. And those are feelings I don’t like and would rather avoid.”

He spoke monotonously, obviously having years of experience behind his words. A man who’d given up, perhaps, but a man who had embraced something better.

“That sounds... relieving.”

“Oh, it is.”

Castiel rubbed his lips side-to-side against Dean’s freckled shoulders, loving the waxy feel of his skin.

“What about you?” Dean asked.

“About me what?”

“What’s most important to you?”

Castiel stopped to think. He’d never really thought about it before. “She’d kill me if I didn’t say it, so, my mother.”

“If she wouldn’t kill you for not saying it, would you say it?”

“No.” Castiel sighed, a guilty itch running in his gut. “I don’t want to say bad things about her, but I don’t think I like her very much. I mean, as my mother, of course - but as a person, she isn’t what I would call pleasant.”

“What’s she like?”

“Like my real estate agent persona. Manipulative, a liar, good at smiling.”

“Ah.”

Castiel felt better for saying it. He managed a real smile, a slight twinge of relief washing over the guilt. “As for other important things... my car, I suppose. Or what it represents.”

“Which is what?”

“Leaving.”

Dean curled his hand tighter around Castiel’s spread fingers. “Guess I’m gonna see that tailpipe give me a faceful of smoke sometime soon, huh.”

Castiel stayed silent, not wanting to confirm that reality. He had to leave, soon. Probably tomorrow.

“What kind of car is it?” Dean’s question broke a short silence. “Please tell me it’s something nice.”

“You’ll laugh,” Castiel said. “I know you will.”

Dean rolled over, sitting up on his elbow to look sternly at Castiel. “Some Japanese car? Or one of those ditzy two-seater things?”

Castiel sat up too, plumping a pillow and leaning against the bed’s headboard. “No. It’s a, um... A 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Black.”

Dean froze for a second, mouth open. “You’re kidding. Like, you’re actually, properly kidding me right now.”

“I’m not,” Castiel smiled, eyes down. “I bought it when I was eighteen.”

Dean’s breath came a little faster, sitting up straight and setting a fist on his open mouth. “Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker.”

“I don’t think he’d like that.”

“Jesus _Christ_.” Dean burst out laughing, and with the laugh, Castiel won his own bet. Dean’s eyes watered slightly, and he regained enough composure to add, “Fucking _hell_ , Cas.”

“It was my last attempt to cling to God,” Castiel admitted, leaning his head on the lacquered wooden slats behind him, staring at the ceiling. The spiderwebs were harder to see in the lamplight than before. “I figured if I had the car _you_ always wanted - my religious guide, as you were then - then I might find God in the engine, I don’t know.”

“And I take it you never found Him there,” Dean hummed, amused so deeply that it chiselled grooves beside his eyes.

Castiel shook his head, rolling his head to look at Dean properly. “All I found was a lot of repair bills in the future that followed.”

“She run okay now?”

“Well enough,” Castiel smiled. “I brought her with me today, she’s in the parking field.”

Dean pointed a firm finger towards Castiel. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m gonna see her, you got it?”

“Yes.” Castiel smile was fond and easy on his face. He looked forward to showing Dean.

Dean bit his lip and shifted forward, leaning his shoulder against Castiel’s, so they sat as equals in their bed, thighs touching all the way down, toes overlapping. Castiel caught Dean’s hand in his own, and Dean raised it to kiss a finger fingertip.

“Tell me about your friends,” Dean said. “Who else means something to you?”

Castiel set his chin on Dean’s shoulder, peering at his ear through half-lidded eyes. “I don’t have any friends.”

Dean turned his face fast enough that Castiel had to move his head. “How can you not have friends? You’re fucking marvellous.”

Castiel laughed out loud, the ache of it going belly-deep. But he sobered up quickly. “I’m quiet and awkward, and when I do talk, I’m usually not the person I’d like to be. People don’t seem to stick around me.”

“Well that sucks donkey balls,” Dean said, astounded. “Unless you’re lying right now and this is another persona, I’m seriously... fuckin’ baffled by that.”

Castiel’s smile reached his eyes. “This is the real me, no acting. Thank you, I suppose.”

Dean blew a soft, airy raspberry, shaking his head. “You can share my friends. They’ll love you, I promise. They might tease you a bit - heck, call that a lot - but if I love you, they’re kind of forced to love you. Sam’s already a goner; if he and Gabe weren’t already a match made in Heaven, he’d be tripping over you right now.”

Castiel gave a wary smile. “Thank you again?”

Dean patted Castiel on the arm, then lifted his arm up, slinging it around his shoulders so he could squish him tight from the side. “Welcome, buddy.”

Their conversation drifted, firstly through the topic of food, both declaring their love of red meat, burgers in particular. Books, movies; they each found they had similar tastes, but widely different tastes when it came to certain genres. Dean was willing to fight Castiel to the death over the importance of watching ‘Die Hard’ at Christmas. (Castiel was totally on board the ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ wagon.)

Dean spoke often about his younger brother, Sammy, more than once stating how proud he was of him. Castiel smiled as he heard those words, he felt how loved the younger Winchester was.

Adam was mentioned less often, his story often waved away. Dean didn’t want to talk about him in the same way the tabloids buried him under the older brothers’ glory, and Castiel picked up on that soon enough, but he felt uneasy about how quickly Dean would steer the subject in a different direction.

It was only when Adam came up again in conversation, as Dean was laughing about rival bands of their time, that Castiel realised what the issue was.

“He fell into the bad stuff, right along with everyone else at the time,” Dean explained, eyes down, voice low, like he was afraid the mice in the walls might hear him. “If I could blame anything, I’d blame the celebrity statuses. Not of him, but of me and Sam. Adam got bumped down, he was basically still a baby, only our half-brother, only the bass guitar, backup vocals. That doesn’t get much attention on magazine splash pages. It was...”

Dean shrugged, a downward tug on his lips, unhappy at the recollection. “It was worse for him. It was quiet, sure, because we weren’t that well known, being a country Christian teen rock band run by our mom - but if kids get overshadowed, no matter how deep those shadows go, they kind of fall into them.”

Dean ran a hand down his face, shining eyes glancing to the ceiling. “I wanna help him. He’s still here, he sticks around with the rodeo, same as Sammy. Odd jobs here and there, painting this and that, answering phone calls. He gets paid, he gets a home. We’re there for him, but hell, we don’t know how to help him.”

“What’s wrong now?” Castiel asked, a concerned line creeping between his eyebrows. “You’re out of the show business, what’s the problem?”

Dean licked his lips, scratching his forehead. “We don’t know. Maybe he’s sick. It used to be drugs, but we figure the drugs were just to fix whatever was wrong before. He won’t tell us. He just seems to have given up on everything.”

Castiel swallowed. “Maybe... Call me crazy, but maybe he’s the same as us. Needs to take off.”

Dean turned his eye on Castiel, interest piqued.

“Give him a car, some fuel. Some money. Let him get away from you.”

Dean’s mouth opened, he stared for a moment, then he closed it again. “Maybe.”

“It’s just a suggestion. Give him a chance to make his own life. He’s, what, twenty-three now? I mean no offence, but if I was overshadowed by you my whole childhood, then had no option but to continue being overshadowed at an age I should be finding my own self, I would be more than miserable, too.”

Dean gave a sad smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

Castiel hoped they found a way to help him, in any case.

They drifted away again, talked about school, about Dean’s time with the band, about his struggles getting over stage fright. Castiel held his hand as he talked about his mother, knowing full well from the songs alone how deeply Dean felt her loss.

Dean promised to teach Castiel how to ice skate; Castiel promised he’d fly a kite with Dean one day, just so Dean could sing the song from ‘Mary Poppins’.

Castiel laughed more times than he could keep track of, and his eyes welled with tears about the same. Dean pulled him into an emotional state, no matter which of them were talking. Castiel realised he’d not had a conversation for this long, or this in-depth... ever, in his entire life. He never told Dean that, because he didn’t want Dean to turn around and look at the clock to see how long they’d talked.

The digital numbers slipped from 02:14 through 03:34, Castiel’s eyelids slowly growing heavier as Dean ranted on about how some rodeo shows were not careful enough with their animals, and not careful enough with their standards. He blessed Gabriel constantly, and with that praise came more praise for Sam, who apparently kept the whole place running smoothly.

The clock read 04:57 as Castiel was attempting to explain the long and convoluted manner in which his pet goldfish died, but found he couldn’t string a sentence together without repeating five words in one go.

Dean laughed, sniffed, patted at his cheek, then turned at last to see the clock. “Hoooly shit what the fuck is that.”

“Five a.m.,” Castiel said, his eyes feeling like they were glued and weighted at once. He snivelled out a dragging laugh, hiccuping at the end. “We talked all night.”

“Sun’s g’na be up in a minute, Jesus,” Dean muttered, forcing a blink.

“Mm.”

“Hey, we should sleep,” Dean suggested, like it was a novel idea. “But I need to pee first. Back in a pink. God. Minute. Be right back.”

He sloped out of bed, feet scraping the carpet as he hobbled to the bathroom, limbs floppy and his strides irregular. Castiel laughed and splayed himself over the bed, giggling as the pillow he’d been leaning on fell into his face.

Fatigue made him delirious, but then again, so did happiness.

He had absolutely no doubt in his mind that this was the best night of his entire life. Dean didn’t even run water while he used the bathroom, he was just that comfortable. Castiel stuck the pillow over his ears anyway, sparing Dean the future embarrassment.

On second thoughts, Castiel flopped over the bed and retrieved Dean’s guitar, which lay untouched beside the bed. Sitting up, Castiel fiddled with it, and started strumming.

The toilet flushed, the pipes shuddered in the wall as Dean ran the tap, and then Dean emerged, wide shoulders slumped.

His face brightened as he saw Castiel wrapped around his guitar.

“Hey. Fucking hell, Cas, what are you playing? That song was on the unreleased demo album. How do you know that song?”

Castiel smirked, lifting a shoulder. “I was a big fan, I had a lot of money early on.”

“Know how to get things, huh?” Dean slid into bed, draping the sheet over him as he sat behind Castiel, peering over his shoulder to watch him play.

Castiel finished the song, his favourite of the instrumentals. He could tell Dean’s writing apart from his brothers’, it was more emotional, even without the lyrics. Sam’s songs were written in such rhythmic prose that it was almost Shakespearian, and Adam’s songs were darker, simpler, more about the hardships of keeping his faith and dragging his feet through life.

“Can I play something?” Dean asked, reaching for the neck of the guitar.

Castiel snorted, handing it over. “It’s your baby, you don’t need to ask.”

“Yeah, but my momma taught me it’s bad manners not to ask first before taking something.”

“Your mom must’ve been an amazing woman.”

“Yeaaah,” Dean sighed, crossing his legs so he was opposite Castiel, eyes on his hands. “Yeah, she was.”

“What did you want to play?”

Dean’s smile rose up his face, crinkling his eyes but not splitting his lips into a grin. “Just a little something I wrote.”

Castiel didn’t have to ask; this was going to be something nobody else had heard, apart from the Winchesters and their closest friends.

Dean cleared his throat, then pulled a few experimental strings.

Castiel had expected something jaunty. But the first few notes spilled out slow and sweet, unbroken by the jerks of Dean’s hand; he played expertly, and effortlessly so.

“ _I’ve been a-looking for something,_ ” he sang, voice like tar - faster than the guitar’s long twangs, but still easy-going; the voice of an older man. “ _And I don’t know where it’s gone. I think you stole, yeah, I think you stole my good Lord away._ ”

Dean didn’t meet Castiel’s gaze, but closed his eyes, shaking his head as suddenly a rhythmic tempo picked up, hand slapping the body of his guitar. The sound bounced deep like a drum, a bassline. He rocked into the rhythm, the sway of his voice flawless as he covered the guitars with his words; “ _Not lookin’ for my baby, not lookin’ for my soul. I’m a-looking for my true love, honey, and you know where I’m gone._ ”

Castiel set his chin into his hand as he leaned forward, elbow on his bent knee. He smiled, happy at the sound of Dean’s voice singing a tune he’d never heard in his life. New, strange. Nothing like Dean’s old music; this was beat-driven, like a heartbeat, like the thrum of an engine under the words. What Castiel wouldn’t give to have this recorded, so he could play it five hundred times over.

“ _Been searchin’ all my life, you know I’m ancient now. Kinda lonesome all by myself; I like me a good time, go-oood time, but now I’m on the run._ ” Dean smiled, biting into his lip as he kept on playing.

“ _Would ya sit down with my bare empty soul, just tell me where I went wrong. I’ve been a-listenin’ out for your hoooo-ooo-ooowl―_ ” Dean laughed, the rhythm breaking and his fingers losing their grip on the strings as he found a joke in his own song. With a lazy, tired shake of his head, he fell back so seamlessly that the laugh almost seemed like part of the music. “ _And you know, honey, you know where I’m... gone._ ”

The last strum of strings played out slow, one after the other, until they twanged a faint, wildly incorrect note that Dean winced at.

Castiel was vibrating with glee, totally and completely enraptured by the song. He shook his head, beaming so widely his face hurt, and he didn’t have words so he just fell against Dean, mouth speaking for him in his silence.

They pulled apart with a smack of lips, and Castiel chuckled as he slumped out of bed, heading for the bathroom. He came back a minute later, still with a huge smile on his face. Privileged, was what he felt. Dean had shared something so dear to him that he’d practically revealed his heart. Everything Castiel ever read about Dean told him his music was an extension of himself, and Castiel believed it.

Maybe that was why Dean fell for Castiel so quickly - Castiel already loved the music, already knew that inner part of him.

They swept close in the bed together, Dean rolling on top of Castiel with a laugh, shifting to extinguish the light. They drowned in the darkness, eventually seeing the corners of the room by the early drag of sunrise outside, creeping under the curtain.

They kissed, sighing. Castiel hadn’t thought about it before, but now, he felt safe. Dean made him feel protected, a bubble around them, filled just with their music and their kisses.

Dean found his way back to his own side of the bed, humming happily. “You still gonna be here when I wake up?” he asked the darkness.

Speaking as the darkness, Castiel asked back, “Do you want me to be?”

Castiel heard Dean’s smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

“Then I will.”

And there was the last of it. They fell asleep, not quite in each other’s arms, but close enough.

~

Castiel woke to the horrible, horrible sound of his phone alarm.

When thumping his arm blindly for his alarm clock hit nothing but empty air, he got out of bed with his eyes still firmly closed, only making the effort to orient himself when he didn’t recognise the carpet under his bare feet. The light in the room was glazed in orange, filtered through the curtain. The heat of day was thick in the room; it was long past the early morning.

He looked down, frowning, momentarily confused as to why he was wearing tiny dinosaurs on his crotch.

“What is that?” a voice croaked from behind him, dreary and thick with sleep. “Oh, man, is that a fire drill?”

Castiel looked back to see a squinty-eyed and muss-headed Dean perk up from between the rumpled sheets, growling.

“It’s my phone,” Castiel grumbled, rounding the foot of the bed and making his way for the noise. It had to be in his pocket somewhere. “I must have set an alarm for... whatever time it is now is.” Dean grunted.

Castiel had his hand in his overcoat as Dean informed him, “‘s midday.”

Castiel slid his thumb around his phone screen to stop the blaring, bleeping noise, and Dean sighed as the silence descended like a pleasant blanket.

“It’s not an alarm, it’s a reminder,” Castiel realised, misery pouring little dollops of tar over the nice warm feeling in his gut. “To remind me to prepare for my appointment this evening.”

“When?”

Castiel glanced at Dean, taking a second to enjoy his ruffled demeanour; it suited him. “Six tonight. I’m showing a young couple options for their first investment.”

Dean sat up a little more, arms rounding his crooked legs so he could rest his chin on his knees. “Will you make it?”

Castiel shook his head, scrolling his contacts. “I live in Kansas. Even if I left right now and rushed, I’d be late. I’m going to...” he sighed, steeling himself, “call them. Ask to reschedule.”

“Can’t you cancel?”

“That’s unprofessional.”

Dean gave a tiny shrug of one shoulder. “Better to avoid your triggers, man. If selling houses makes you evil, don’t freakin’ sell houses.”

Castiel gave a terse smile, wandering back to the bed and hitting dial as he sat beside Dean’s feet. “I need time to adjust. I can’t just switch personalities.”

“Yeah you ca―”

Castiel held up a hand to stop Dean talking, as the person on the other end of the line picked up. “Yes, hello, Ms. Singh? This is Castiel Norton, calling on behalf of Norton Housing Investments.” The woman on the other end greeted him. “We have an appointment scheduled for this evening. I’m - um - sorry to say I won’t be able to hold that appointment.”

Immediately, the question came, always a demand for an explanation.

“I’ve had a family emergency,” Castiel said, curling red lines with his fingernails on his thigh. “My great-uncle passed away last night; I’ve had to travel and I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it back in time.”

Condolences, sympathy.

Castiel purposely put on his smile, knowing she’d be able to hear it. “Oh, it’s fine. Thank you so much. If you want to reschedule, my planner is open right in front of me, I can pencil a date in for you.” He bit his lip as she answered. “Tomorrow afternoon is absolutely fine, we can start there.” She agreed, and he shut his eyes, swallowing.

“Of course. Yes.” Castiel puttered out positive words, barely listening to what she said. At last she gave a tell-tale end-of-conversation pause, and he filled the moment with another smile. “Thank you so much for understanding. I’ll be in touch.” She hung up with a polite goodbye, and Castiel dropped his hand with the phone in it into his lap, returning to the menu screen and keeping his eyes down as he typed the new appointment into his calendar.

“So,” Dean said, a smile in the word, but a mock in it just the same, “My butt is your recently deceased great-uncle, huh?”

Castiel snorted without humour, still staring at his phone as it blanked into standby. “I didn’t know what else to say. Dead relatives always seem to work. My great-uncle has died on about ten different occasions. One time, because I ate too much ice cream at once and didn’t want to face a human being for at least a week.”

Dean gave a soft laugh, the bed dipping as he shifted to sit beside Castiel, their thighs touching with the sheet between them. “So I guess you’re gonna head off today.”

Castiel swallowed, dipping his head in a nod. “Sooner rather than later. I’d rather not rush to drive through the night.”

“Yeah.”

Castiel sucked his lips in for a moment, then sighed as he let them free again, eyes lifting to the evacuation instructions tacked to the back of the door. “I should really leave right now.”

Dean kicked his foot. “Gimmie your phone.”

“What?” Castiel asked, clutching the device a little tighter. “Why do I feel like you’re going to flush it down the toilet?”

Dean blurted out a laugh, shaking his head as he held out his hand. “I’m gonna give you my number.”

Castiel was eased hugely by that. He gave Dean the phone, impressed when Dean unlocked it using the thumb-sliding pattern Castiel had used.

Dean started tapping at the screen, and Castiel tried to peer over his hands, but Dean wrenched it out of his sight. “Bug off. I’m gonna text my own number, too. I left my phone in the brig.”

“Brig?”

“Huh?” Dean glanced up. “Oh, it’s the... mess hall. Thing. The brown building out front, it’s our base of operations for the rodeo. We use the motel as home, half the year.”

Castiel eyed the phone, wondering what on earth Dean was texting. “Can I see?”

“No, it’s a surprise,” Dean muttered, swiping back to the menu screen and handing the phone over. “Sammy’s gonna get the message anyway, my cellphone was with him.”

Castiel felt a little thrill, knowing his phone had just sent a message for _the_ Sam Winchester. No matter how completely Dean had deconstructed his own pedestal, Sam still had celebrity status to Castiel.

“Can I send a message too?” Castiel asked, picking up his phone once more.

“Go ahead,” Dean grinned.

There was a hush as Castiel tapped out his text, found the newly added **Dean Winchester ;)** contact in his list, and hit send.

“What’d you send him?”

“No, it’s a surprise,” Castiel said, smacking an arm into Dean’s chest as he tried to reach for the phone. They grappled pointlessly for a few seconds, Dean laughing at how ticklishly Castiel reacted to hands on his middle, Castiel laughing at the way Dean’s eyebrows stretched when Castiel tugged at his hair.

With a last guffaw, Castiel scrambled away and firmly returned his phone to his overcoat pocket. He was still beaming as he went back to Dean, leaning down to kiss him. Dean lifted his chin, closed his eyes, and rounded his lips against Castiel’s mouth, a light moan transferring along with his tongue.

Castiel couldn’t hold the kiss, having to break away to laugh as Dean smacked his lips annoyedly, chewing empty air as they both tasted the sourness of morning in their mouths.

“How’s about that KitKat for breakfast,” Dean suggested, bypassing Castiel with a hand dragging over both nipples. “Nothing like a good healthy start to the day.”

Castiel watched, smiling, as Dean’s smart-cut figure snatched the candy from the table, splitting the wrapper and snapping the chocolate. Castiel stood still, smiling in wonder as Dean offered Castiel half, two bars of wafer pointed in his direction like fingers.

He took it and started eating, savouring the texture. There were tiny, round, warm dents in the chocolate layer where Dean’s fingertips had already melted it.

“C’mon, you’d better get dressed,” Dean said, throwing the last bite into his mouth.

Licking his fingers, still dissecting wafer between his teeth, Castiel went back to the bed and sat down. He didn’t want to leave, he really didn’t.

“Every minute I stay feels like... oh.”

“A minute more you don’t want to go,” Dean finished, staring at the newspaper on the table. “Yeah.”

Castiel lay backwards on the bed, staring at the ceiling. This place looked different in the muted daylight; wholesome, warm in every sense of the word. Just the bed and the bathroom together made up Dean’s entire home, and Castiel was _in_ it.

“You probably don’t wanna put on your dirty clothes,” Dean muttered.

“Hm?”

“I can get you something, if you want? You’re my size, right? What d’ya think―” Castiel heard the sound of a dresser drawer opening, then Dean continued, “A Heaven Falling band shirt, the one I wore that fucking terrible charity concert in Oklahoma - or a Gabriel’s Texas Cowboys shirt? I think I puked on it once.”

Castiel sat up, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You’d let me borrow one?”

Dean blew a disdainful raspberry. “Dude, you can keep it. Obviously.” He shook his head, back turned as he rummaged in another drawer. “You’d probably look real good in ripped jeans.”

Castiel’s stomach clenched. He felt excited, yes, but guilty. He didn’t deserve this gift.

He stayed quiet until Dean dumped a small pile of clothes beside Castiel: pale jeans, a navy blue t-shirt with a wash-faded white design across the chest, and a pair of black socks.

“I have clothes in my trunk,” Castiel said.

“Are they all Holy-Tax-Accountant-slash-Evil-Realtor?”

“Yes.” Castiel looked at the socks sadly, smiling at the hole he spied in the toe of one.

“Then you should have somethin’ else,” Dean said, chucking Castiel under the chin. “Your fall from grace is gonna be mucky and dirty and fifteen kinds of weird for you, but at least start with the clothes. Be an ex-rockstar cowboy for once.”

Castiel couldn’t look up, afraid tears would come to his eyes. “You’re a very nice person.”

Dean was quiet for a second, then he laughed. Castiel was surprised enough at the gusto of the laugh that he was _forced_ to look up. “What?” he asked.

Dean slid the back of his hand across the scruff on his jaw, eyes twinkling. “I’m just a guy, Cas. Look, I told you all those faults of mine last night, but I never said the big ones. Why would I?” He shrugged, arms out to the sides. “You tell a person the little problems so they think there’s no big ones. That’s what you do with your houses, isn’t it?”

Castiel dragged his gaze to the floor again. “Yes.”

“I’m not a nice guy, I’m just... pff. Existing. I do things, and I do ‘em because I want to. I give you my clothes and I’m giving you _clothes_ , not a new life. You gotta go... find that yourself, you know?”

Castiel nodded, running a hand back through his hair.

They lapsed into the quietness of breath for a while, Castiel only thinking about how comfortable Dean’s bed felt under him, how nice it was to walk around in bare feet and underwear, how sturdy a companion Dean was just as he stood there beside Castiel’s knees.

“Am I gonna see you again?” Dean asked, so quietly that Castiel turned his face slightly to hear him. “Shoot me now, but I don’t fucking want this to be the last time.”

His voice stayed so low, probably to hide the emotion that Castiel heard in it anyway.

“I hope we meet again.” Castiel’s throat tightened as he gulped.

“And, I wanna meet Cas Norton of the human race, not Mr. C. Norton of Norton Housing Whatever.”

Castiel smirked. “I’d rather not come back to find you speared by a bull.”

“We should, uh, make some sort of pact. Not a creepy one, just―” Dean touched his fingertips to Castiel’s cheek, crooking them softly as he rolled them away, fuzzing them at Castiel’s thick stubble. “Maybe we don’t see each other until we’re who we wanna be. Doing what we want.”

“That could be a very long time,” Castiel said, meeting Dean’s eye, almost pleading. “That could be years, if ever.”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t let it be years.”

Castiel couldn’t promise, so he stayed quiet, turning his eyes away. “Just for the record... I won’t hold it against you if you fell back into your usual habits while we’re apart.”

“Which habits do you mean?”

“A bed can’t stay empty forever.” Castiel twisted two of his fingers against each other, trying to soothe himself. “I can’t say it’ll be the same for me, but―”

“Cas, what?” Castiel looked up, setting his gaze on Dean’s confused frown. Dean shook his head. “What gave you the impression I do this kind of thing often?”

“The kid in the truck stop said his mother said you were the best ride in the state,” Castiel said, a touch of humour in his words. “And you’re Dean Winchester, bucking bronco, no longer a practising Christian.” Castiel’s shoulders rolled in a shrug, his smile pained but natural.

“Okay, you know I said I haven’t met a Heaven Falling fan for a couple years now,” Dean said, eyes drifting to the curtain. “Well, even then, I wasn’t looking for anything. Cas - I do _this_ ―” he cupped Castiel’s jaw, lifting it to meet him in a soft kiss, as gentle as morning sun, “absolutely never. I had my flings back when I was in the band; girls, boys, anything in between - but eight years of that overlapped with almost a decade after the band, and then I’m in the bronco business, and _Christ_ , Cas, did you not even _listen_ to my song last night?”

Castiel blinked, not wanting to shake his head, but unsure how to answer.

Dean dragged his hand off Castiel’s face, stepping back with a sigh. “I’m doing that true-love bullshit. Soppy, I know.” He slid his hand from his neck down his bare chest, exasperated. “I’m not gonna buck on over and pull some other sap under my sheets, okay? I promise you. I don’t need that, I don’t want it.” Lips pressed together, he gave a tiny shake of his head. “Unless you say you’re done, I’m not done.”

Castiel’s eyes swept Dean’s height, trying to find the catch in this. For all he ever learned selling houses, if it sounded too good to be true, it probably was. In his case, it _always_ was. He couldn’t sit there and believe everything Dean was saying, no matter how much he wanted to.

Dean closed his eyes and put a hand over his face. “You don’t gotta believe me, it’s fine. Just... Just make sure you come back sometime. Text me, call me. I’m not gonna cling, I just need to know you’re still interested.”

“I’m still interested,” Castiel said, firm. “Dean, I am.”

“Good.” Dean slapped his hand to his thigh. “Now get dressed.”

Castiel, bemused, did as Dean said, pulling on the clean socks and the jeans, towering the shirt over his head on raised arms before Dean laughed and pulled it down for him, tickling his sides as he went.

Their eyes met, and they smiled. They kissed, chocolate flavoured this time.

Castiel washed up in the bathroom, then tried to style his hair with nothing but water before giving up, happy to look like he’d taken a roll in the hay with a cowboy.

In a reverse parallel of last night, Castiel exited the bathroom to find Dean cross-legged on the bed, dressed in jeans with a red plaid shirt over a grey t-shirt, guitar in his lap. He wasn’t playing, though, just staring.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked up. “Play me something? Quick, before you leave. Sing me something, even.”

Castiel chuckled, crawling onto the bed, eyes set on Dean. Turning and sitting with his back to the headboard, he held out a hand for the guitar, waiting for Dean to hand it over.

With the instrument in place, Castiel found his chords, and started playing.

The song choice was easy; it had come to him in the shower last night, and it returned to his fingertips as he strummed.

“ _[There's a want, and there's a neee-ed... There's a history between... Guys like him and guys like me... Cowboys and angels.](https://www.box.com/s/z8vn6xleeeho6g6uptua)_ ”

Dean knew the song, he was mouthing along, and had laughed out loud when he noticed Castiel had changed the lyrics to include male pronouns. Castiel, feeling his eyes crinkling up, looked back to the guitar, starting the next verse.

He didn’t get a single word out before Dean took over, voice rough and biting.

“ _I've got boots and he's got wiii-ings; I'm hell on wheels and he's heavenly... I'd die for him and he lives for me... Cowboys and angels._ ”

They chuckled, Castiel’s clumsy strumming losing its rhythm for a moment. Dean was already into the chorus by the time Castiel found it again.

“ _We riiii-ide - side by side...! A cloud of duuu-ust, a ray of light..._ ” Castiel caught up, belting out the next line, Dean’s own voice lost under his deeper, smoother notes. “ _My touch is his temptation; his kiss is my salvation... He's sweet, I'm wild, we're daaa-angeroouu-usss―_ ”

Castiel laughed again, he couldn’t help it. “ _Cowboys and angels..._ ” Dean smiled back, silent now, so he could hear Castiel’s voice.

“ _I'm not sure why his path crossed mine..._ ” Castiel’s smile faded, the meaning in the words more real now. “ _Accident or grand design... Maybe God just kinda likes - Cowboys and angels._ ”

Dean tilted his head to the side, not flirtatious nor curious, but tender.

Castiel attempted an instrumental solo, broken and badly ad-libbed, but Dean patted his denim-clad knee, beating out a drum.

Castiel shook his head as he grinned, hopeless at rhythm when he played and sang at once. Dean heralded the new chorus, helping Castiel lead into it; “ _We riii-ii-ide side by side, A cloud of duuu-ust, a ray of light..._ ” Castiel sang too now, eyes half-closed, legitimately lost in the song, loving it, knowing it would forever mean more to him than any other song that wasn’t by Dean himself. “ _My touch is his temptation, his kiss is my salvation - He's sweet, I'm wild, we're daaa-angeroouuuus! Cowboys and angels._ ”

Castiel swallowed before he attempted the last verse, solo this time, barely playing the guitar at all as the song slowed. “ _There's a want and there's a need..._ ”

Dean watched him carefully, that same weakness for Castiel in his eyes as he’d had as they had made love.

“ _There's a history between... Guys like you and guys like me... Cowboys and angels._ ”

Castiel plucked the last note, eyes on Dean.

Dean took a long time to smile, and when he did, it was sad. “Gonna miss you, angel.”

Castiel lifted the neck of the guitar and put a kiss on its strings, still watching Dean. Dean gulped, lips twitching at the corners.

Dean’s gaze scattered away, and his eyes searched the bed, then turned to the floor, and finally Castiel saw his eyebrows jump up.

“Got it.” Dean slid off the bed, ducked low, and came up holding his brown cowboy hat. “C’mere, angel, I got something for you.”

“Oh, Dean... no.”

“Yes,” Dean objected, curling a finger to get Castiel to move.

Castiel went forward, leaving the guitar behind. He stood, and Dean smirked as he stepped against him, their hips pressed together, Dean’s buckle clipping Castiel’s empty belt loops. Castiel’s hair went _flump_ as Dean positioned the hat on him, Castiel’s vision blinded everywhere above Dean’s curved lips.

“Dean―”

“I want you to have it,” Dean said, in a tone that couldn’t be argued with. “You look good as a cowboy. About eight times hotter, I’d say.”

“How would it look with my overcoat?” Castiel asked, going to grab his long tan coat and sweeping it around him, the cotton of his t-shirt slipping easily into the lining of the coat. He held his arms out so Dean could see him properly.

Dean stared, mouth slightly open around his loose grin. “Well, blow me.”

“I don’t have time.”

Dean laughed, tugging on his t-shirt. “Yeah. Guess we’ll have to take a raincheck on that one.”

Castiel snuffled on a smile, curling his fingers into the sleeves of his coat. “I still need to show you my car.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, perking up so dramatically that he bounced on his feet. “God, fuck yes.”

Between Dean’s excitement and Castiel’s propensity to re-fold his suit, they left the motel room within a matter of minutes. Castiel seriously questioned Dean’s motivations in wanting to send another text to Sam, but let it slide when Dean insisted he’ll find out soon enough.

Castiel carried his things in an official Gabriel’s Texas Cowboys bag. He somehow felt that his dress shoes were out of place under all the rugged used clothing; he might have to invest in some cowboy boots. But he liked that he smelled of Dean - not of his soap this time, but of his skin.

They walked in silence past the brig, as Dean called it, then up the path they’d taken the previous night, passing the kitchen trailer, which was now closed up. The midday sun sizzled at Castiel’s shoulders, and he would have removed the overcoat were it not for his fear of getting severe sunburn.

Dean cupped his hands over his head as he walked, feeling the burn without his hat. Castiel, in an attempt to return Dean’s kindness, gave him his hat back. Dean sighed, then winced as Castiel insisted he was fine, a little skin cancer never hurt anyone.

It wasn’t all that bad, and Castiel supposed that half an hour out in this heat wouldn’t be too awful. Although, he might return to Kansas looking like he’d enjoyed a nice holiday rather than a funeral.

They passed the wooden shack of a gate, everything deserted now. The sign creaked in the light breeze, reminiscent of every Wild West movie Castiel had ever seen. He even saw some tumbleweed roll past as they headed into the parking field.

“All right, where is she?” Dean muttered, scanning the field with his hand hooding over his eyes. “A couple of guys would’a left their keys with Charlie; they’ll be back to pick up their babies soon― AH!”

Castiel jumped at Dean’s sudden cry, but then realised what he’d seen, and found himself chasing after him as the other man hurtled across the dry field, one fist raised high as he whooped for joy.

Castiel panted, grinning as he bent over his knees. Standing parked all by her lonesome, Castiel’s Chevy was gleaming faintly in the sun. Her dusty sides even seemed proud as Dean ogled her, laughing with a glee that Castiel had only seen on the faces of children before.

“Fucking hell. Christ. Cas, I love you, and I don’t care how many times you hear me say it, I mean it.” Dean stepped back, fingers pressed over his mouth as he stood there and breathed hard, shaking his head. “She’s beautiful.”

Castiel fished in his pocket for the keys, jangling them between his fingers and going to unlock the driver’s side door. He threw the bag of clothes inside.

“Oh my god, can I drive her?” Dean asked, stepping forward and setting his hands palm-flat on her hood. He gasped immediately and pulled away, growling in pain. “Ow! Fuck, she’s hot. Son of a bitch!” He blew air on his hands, frowning.

“I wouldn’t trust you to drive with burned hands,” Castiel said. “No, that’s a lie. I just don’t trust you to ever leave the wheel, and I really need to leave.”

Dean’s eyes dragged over her steel rims and shining black panels, longing set deep in every inch of his face. “Man,” he murmured.

Tasting his words first, Castiel thought to himself, then said, “When I come back.” He looked Dean in the eye from across the hood of the car, nodding once. “You can drive her when I come back. In fact,” he smiled, “when I come back, she’s yours. For all the logic I ignored in buying her, I really bought her for you. I just never thought I’d actually get to give her to you.”

Dean swallowed hard, and Castiel realised the hand that dragged down his face was to hide rising tears. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel just smiled.

“Hey!”

Castiel turned around at the sound of a voice, calling. He saw a very tall man with long hair approaching. Castiel frowned; the man seemed familiar.

“Heya, Sammy!” Dean shouted across the field, raising a hand with his fingers spread. “Where’s everyone else?”

Sammy - _Sam Winchester_ \- strode up to the car, a perfectly even grin on his face. “On their way. Hey, wow. Is this yours?” Sam asked, eyes turning to Castiel.

Castiel forced himself to shut his mouth. “Yes.”

Sam whistled, impressed. “Dean would’ve killed for one of these a few years ago.”

“Who says I still wouldn’t?” Dean countered, snarky. He walked around the car, heading to join Sam and Castiel. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”

Sam nodded appreciatively, then bounced his eyebrows and tracked his gaze to Castiel again. “Castle, right?”

Castiel’s eye twitched. “Castiel.”

Dean groaned. “Cas _tiel_. God, I knew it was something like that.”

Castiel began to stare at Dean. Very hard. “You. Didn’t know my name.”

Dean pulled a very sheepish grin, raising his arms in surrender. “Don’t hate me, man. You said it, like, _once_ , and you were handing me a handful of dinosaurs at the time, so really―” Dean wilted slightly under Castiel’s glare. “What, c’mon, don’t be mad. You like ‘Cas’, right?”

Castiel’s glare eased as he tilted his head. “Perhaps.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head, relief curling his lips. “Ah... anyway. Sam, Cas― um, Cas-tiel. Castiel, my little brother Sammy.”

Castiel offered his hand, unsure how this man could be classified as ‘little’ in any way at all. Castiel remembered Sam as scrawny, lanky, slim. Castiel had definitely found that attractive when he’d had much the same body type, but Castiel had grown into a type-Dean, where Sam had grown into a type-gargantuan.

Sam’s hand shook well; not hurting Castiel at all, but still sturdy. “Dean texted me,” he said, dropping Castiel’s hand to lift up a phone that had somehow been hiding in his other hand, unseen. “Told me to grab everyone and meet you out here, but everyone else is... uh. Not here yet. There was another text, actually―”

Castiel stepped forward, setting his hand over the phone. “No, that one’s for Dean. For when I leave.”

Castiel and Sam locked eyes, and Sam looked confused for a few seconds, before Castiel’s meaning registered, and a smirk tugged at Sam’s lips, the shade of his Stetson not covering his long nose as the smirk spread into a real smile.

Dean shuffled awkwardly, and Sam and Castiel turned to him as one, both grinning.

“Uh?” Dean said.

“Yo!” someone shouted, and Castiel didn’t even need to see behind Sam’s massive frame to know that Gabriel was approaching. Sam turned to the side, and Gabriel swaggered up to the car, cackling out a vaguely inhuman noise. “Dang, look at that. Dean would’a murdered for one of these back in the day.”

“Still might,” Dean said, tone light and cheerful.

Gabriel puffed out a breath, clapping his chummy hands together and turning to Castiel. “Oh hey there, didn’t recognise you under all your cowboy― whoa, is that Dean’s shirt?” he said, all in one breath. “He puked on that thing once, I hope you know.”

“I was made aware of that, yes,” Castiel said, sinking his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “And yes, these are Dean’s clothes.”

“And the hat, too,” Dean said, crossing between Gabriel and Sam, plonking the cowboy hat back on Castiel’s head. It was still warm from Dean’s head.

“Isn’t that―” Sam started, before Dean shut him up with a zipping motion across his mouth.

“What?” Castiel asked, too curious to let it lie. “What is it?”

Sam looked at Castiel with a strange new fondness, more of a puppy-dog look in his eyes than one might expect from a giant. “Our mom gave Dean that hat.”

“Christ,” Dean spat at Sam, “can’t you keep that _one_ thing on the down-low?”

Castiel’s mouth fell open again. “Dean... Dean, I can’t take this―” He grabbed the hat off his head, trying to hand it back, but Dean shoved it back on Castiel’s head, jamming it hard enough that Castiel’s ears folded out to the sides and his vision browned out.

Dean laughed, ducking his head to flip the front up again. Castiel’s eyes met with tilted green irises, and a smile that lit him up like the sun itself, all the way down to his toes. Dean lifted the hat all the way, flopped it so it sat right. Then he leaned in slowly, putting a kiss on Castiel’s lips that tasted like far more than just candy; it was like someone poured an ocean of wonders into Castiel’s mouth, and Dean was just nudging more in with his brave tongue.

Castiel gasped as Dean edged away, air having seemed unnecessary until then.

“My, my, brother, what did I miss?” came another voice, his drawl slow and careful; Dean and Castiel turned to see Benny, his short hair and beard turned golden by the light. “Honest-to-god, Dean, you went out for _one_ beer.”

Dean grinned at his friend, then turned back to Castiel. “One beer. And a KitKat.”

Castiel beamed, not wanting to ever move an inch further away from this beautiful, beautiful man.

Dean sniffed, eyes rounding the men who stood around; Sam was leaning on the side of the car with Gabriel, the two of them bumping their fists together in some sort of celebration, and Benny, who stood there with his Stetson tipped back, just like in the picture on the screen last night.

“Where’s Adam?” Dean asked, squinting back towards the gates. “And Charlie?”

“Well, I’m right here,” a woman said, and Castiel turned around, startled to see a skinny lady sitting on the hood of his car, her red hair long down her back, denim skirt halfway down her thigh and her bare legs crossed at the boots. “Looks like you got yourself a new buddy, huh, Dean?”

Dean sniggered, shy eyes cast to the ground. “Cas, Charlie. Charlie runs the motel. Cas is an angel masqueradin’ as a real estate agent. For now.”

Castiel felt a little lost, but tried his best to go with it. This was a lot of people at once, and a lot of things happening at once, last night inclusive, and a part of him just wanted to lie back and bask in it - because he was sure that right now, he was being introduced to a set of lifelong friends.

Yes, at the same time, “I have to leave,” he said, quietly. “I really do. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s hand found his, and Castiel was stunned by the feel of fingers set against his own, and he stood peering down at where Dean’s thumb locked over his.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. “But first you gotta meet Adam.”

Castiel smiled. “He’s there.” He pointed, seeing a younger man walking across the field with his hands in his pockets. His cowboy hat was dark, as were the shadows around his eyes. But he smiled as Castiel smiled, and took the hand Castiel offered.

“Castiel,” Castiel said. “I’m a big fan.”

“Literally _the_ biggest fan,” Dean said, sliding his arm across the roof of Castiel’s car at the expense of their hand-holding, their joined fingers falling disconnected. “Fuck, still can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, almost like it was fate or somethin’,” Gabriel said, monotone. Sam smirked, and Gabriel offered another first bump, which Sam took straight away, both chuckling as their hands touched.

Gabriel was at least two feet shorter than Sam - or at least it looked that way. They seemed very comfortable with each other, and Castiel could see why Dean made the comment about them being a match made in Heaven.

Adam still hadn’t spoken, so Castiel clapped him gently on the arm and stepped back, smiling at him. “‘Don’t Hold Me Back’ was my favourite of yours,” he told him, genuinely. “Followed by your cover of ‘Walking in Memphis’.”

Adam’s eyes lit up like sparks had been scratched free behind them. Castiel tipped his hat to him, knowing that that moment just past would forever be precious in both their lives.

Dean drummed a little beat on the roof of the car, then blew on his hands again. “Hey, Benny, how hard would it be to steal one of these things?”

Benny chuckled, and Sam pulled a face that bypassed disapproving and went straight for cursing damnation upon any person who met his eyes. That person happened to be Dean. Dean shrugged at his brother, muttering, “What, it was one time!”

Castiel curtly sidearmed Dean out of the way, plucking the door handle open. “You will not be stealing this one, I assure you. I need to leave.”

“What’s with the hurry?” Charlie asked, flicking the brim of her hat. “Got someplace better to be?”

“No,” Castiel said, absolute truth in the sigh that came with the word. “But if I stay now, I’ll never leave.”

Gabriel started playing air guitar and humming, Sam laughing as he watched, and Castiel recognised the notes to ‘Hotel California’. Shaking his head in amusement, Castiel pulled the car door open.

“Cas! Fucking hell, _no_ ,” Dean complained, louder than everyone else’s distracted chatter. “That is _no_ way to treat a lady.”

Castiel squinted at the front seat of his car, guessing Dean was talking about the spread of twenty or so White Castle wrappers that littered the leather and carpet. “I got hungry.”

“I don’t care, you keep a trash can in the back seat if you need it, you don’t just... Ugh!” Dean threw his hands into the air in total exasperation, shaking his head. “God. Someone give me a plastic bag or something, I’m either gonna tidy this poor baby up or I’m gonna puke.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and got the bag Dean had given him to put his clothes into, going to the trunk and unlocking it to dump the clothes. Dean ran around to look at the trunk, and Castiel almost saw it from his perspective; sweaters and socks were splayed helplessly among wrappers and empty water bottles, something sticky and melted was stuck to something every half-foot or so.

It didn’t make for a good picture.

“It kind of worries me that Evil Real Estate Agent Cas is the neat, tidy guy while the real Cas is _this_ ,” Dean said, spreading his hands towards the open trunk. “What did I get myself into?”

“That’s twu wuv for ya,” Gabriel snickered, leaning his elbow on the trunk lid until it sank and clicked closed. “Through better or for worse.”

Dean hummed a note. “Yeah.” He looked at Castiel, eyes lingering first on his lips, then his eyes. “I guess.”

Castiel’s lips twitched up into a smile. “If I don’t leave within the next minute, I am just going start living right here, in my car, and I don’t think any of us will like that.”

“No,” Dean agreed. “Guess you should... uh.” He licked his lips.

Castiel’s whole body and soul wanted so badly to just _stay_. What they had was ridiculous, and should have been over by now - one-night-stands weren’t meant to happen like this. Only in movies, or in the kinds of books he didn’t read.

“Go on,” Dean said softly, tearing his eyes away. “Get outta my sight.”

“We’ll meet again,” Castiel reassured him. “I don’t know where, and don’t know when―”

“ _[But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny daaaaay―](https://www.box.com/s/9bp3g4b0q9cya8hpn09g)_ ” Sam and Gabriel sang at once, and Castiel laughed, then caught Dean’s eye and the laugh faded.

“I promise,” Castiel said. “I’ll fix it - I’ll fix _me_ , then we’ll...”

“Yeah,” Dean said, reaching up to adjust the hat on Castiel’s head. “Then we’ll.”

Castiel leaned in for one last kiss, hat knocked off as the brim hit Dean’s forehead. Their bodies entwined for a little while, the world falling away so they could share this.

They pulled away, and it always would have been too soon.

With the hat firmly back on Castiel’s head, he got into his car, winced at the heat of the leather, then rolled down the window.

Dean rested his arm on the rim, dipping his head to put a kiss on Castiel’s burning cheek. “Love you.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. He didn’t reply, he didn’t return the sentiment. Dean felt lost in those seconds, when Castiel smiled a quiet smile, started the engine. Charlie yelped and jumped off the hood, starting to chatter to Benny. Castiel’s eyes stayed on Dean until he had to turn to see where he was going, and Dean had to pull away.

The car started moving, and Dean stood there in the sun, feeling cold.

He stood there until the car trundled off, a black block in the field, then covered by the leaves of dusty green trees. Dean heard the distant sound of the tyres hitting the gravel after the grass.

All he could think about was how Castiel had never said it back. All the times Dean tried to tell him - _did_ tell him - Castiel never once said it.

“I think now is when he wanted you to read this,” Sam said, offering Dean’s phone.

Dean batted his hand away. “Not now.”

“Yes now,” Sam said firmly, planting the phone in Dean’s hand.

With a grimace of annoyance, Dean frowned and looked at the screen, having trouble seeing the text under the bright sun. He put a hand over it, shadowing it, and was finally able to see what it said. It was a message from an unknown number - Castiel’s - and it was only four words.

**I love you too.**

Dean’s smile ripped out of him like a cannonball. “Son of a bitch. He sent this before! He knew I’d say it. Goddamn.” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, still feeling the last kiss in his smile.

Sam patted Dean hard on the back. “C’mon, we’re gonna go shoot some pool.”

Dean turned around, eyeing the group of friends who stood around cheerfully, all looking at him. He smiled back, the dawning of a new day in his happy heart. “All right. But someone else is buying lunch.”

~

_July 18th, 09:48pm_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I told them about the problems in the house and they still want to buy it.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Tell them ur quitting.**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Then some other agent will cash in on the same house.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Let them!**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Ok.**

~

_July 21st, 03:56pm_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Adam moved to Canada. Would u believe all he wanted was a change of climate??!**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Yes, I believe it. I hope he settles well.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**I think he is. He bought a puppy.**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**That’s wonderful! I hear animals can be very therapeutic. (I think I’m more of a cat person myself)**

~

_July 31st, 08:02pm_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I sold my house.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Where r u living now?.**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Motel. There is free porn on the tv. I think its broken.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**U should retire there ;)**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I’d rather live somewhere with a garden..**

~

_August 2nd, 07:23am_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Broke my collarbone :(**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**OH no! Are you okay?**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Yeah. I can still play guitar so its all good**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I’m glad. :) How is the bull who gave you that injury?**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**U mean Sam? Hes fine**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Very funny.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**I wasnt joking. The bulls were nowhere near us when he dropped six foot of scaffold on me.**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Does that mean you’re not riding bulls any more?**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Guess youd have to let me know if your still a shitty estate agent first**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**That depends entirely on whether you are still riding bulls.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Stalemate. I hate you.**

~

_August 3rd, 12:01am_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**I dont actually hate u in case that didnt translate in txt**

~

_August 4th, 04:30am_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Cas u ok?**

~

_August 4th, 11:42am_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Sorry I moved out of my motel and lost my phone. Found it now.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Where r u now?**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Oklahoma.**

~

_August 6th, 02:30am_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Ikeep wanting to say stuff 2 u but dont know how 2 say it. And then i dont say anything. Which is why i dont reply 2 most of ur messages im sorry**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Now *i* don’t know what to say.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Dont think u have to say anything. Just say hello sometimes ?**

~

_August 8th, 11:12am_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Hello Dean.**

~

_August 10th, 03:54pm_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Hello Dean.**

~

_August 11th, 02:47am_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Hello Dean. I cant sleep**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**I still have ur panties**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Thank you, now I have NO chance of sleeping.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Shall I guess what ur doing instead?**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I don’t think you really need to guess. ;)**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Aww u used a winky face**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I’ve been led to believe it has sexual connotations.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Yeah Cas it means sex**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**You inserted your name in my phone with ;) I like those implications.**

~

_August 11th, 10:40am_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**For your information I fell asleep waiting for you to reply. I suppose I should thank you for such a RIVETING conversation.**

~

_August 13th, 05:43pm_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**We’re playing the last show of the season next week. Sellout show**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**If its sold out what if I wanted to come?**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Then I guess youd have to use the ticket i reserved 4 u.**

~

_August 14th, 11:20am_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Not sure if I can make it, car is broken**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Whats wrong wth it?**

~

_August 14th, 08:12pm_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Cas? Whats wrong with the car?**

~

_August 15th, 12:08am_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**CAS WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE CAR**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I crashed it**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**What how are u okay? What happend?**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**A can rolled under the brake and I had to graze the shoulder to get it to stop**

~

_August 16th, 10:12am_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Dean I’m really sorry I don’t know ho**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I’m so sorry and I can’t make it, theres no enogh time to order repairsa**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Dean**

~

_August 16th, 09:27pm_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**I’m not mad I’m really glad ur not hurt (are you hurt?) and yeah im sad ur not gonna be here but the show must go on right so i guess i’ll see you when i see u**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**We’re heading out of state after the show so i might not see you for 6 months or more**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**So yeah im sad u cant make it**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Like if there was any way u could get here that would be good**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Planes exist u know**

~

_August 17th, 01:01am_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Repairs can be done by the 20th.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**What time of day? Coz the show starts at 7pm**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Don’t know**

~

_August 19th, 10:40pm_

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I don’t want to see you get thrown by a bull again.**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Gotta admit it was sexy right?**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Those ten seconds were the single most horrifying moments of my adult life INCLUDING seeing three cars driving at me from the side and pushing me ~70 feet down the interstate and then flipping me into the ditch**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**But... sexy**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Im kidding HOYL SHIT CAS. FUCK I THINK MY GUARDIAN ANGEL IS WITH U RIGHT NOW jfc**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Jfc. J(urassic?) fried chicken?**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**No jesus fucking christ**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**Oh that makes more sense**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Forget making the shw please just stay alive. Heck i’d even pray 4 u.**

**From: Castiel - To: Dean**  
**I will endeavour to do both. And thank you.**

~

_August 20th, 06:45pm_

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Shows about to start. Ive got the jitters man**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Hope u make it, this is a big nite. Might change how we do rodeo at Gabriels**

**From: Dean - To: Castiel**  
**Alright goin up now love you**

~

Dean went up on stage already knowing exactly what to expect. It was only a small show - maybe three hundred people. The rigging was set up across the top and sides, a camera tracked on his face and blown up fifty times larger than real life onto the screen plugged in behind him.

He perched on his science-lab stool and picked up the microphone from the stand, its screws set too high for the guitar and too low for his face, which meant it was just perfect for Gabriel. Dean greeted the crowd with an easy grace as he rattled the microphone around, apologising when it went into a feedback loop that made the crowd yowl.

With a sigh, he clapped his hands and greeted everyone properly, “How y’all doin’ tonight?”

He got a cheer, something hopeful; they were expecting something good. The sun was low, everything drenched in bright yellow. It wouldn’t be dark for quite some time. The desert heat shimmered over them, like the haze above a frying pan.

“I’m gonna, um,” he started, hearing his words bounce around the arena. People were on the bleachers, but there were far more crowded around the stage, their banners left behind and only their smiling faces and an abundance of Stetsons there to meet his face.

There would be no horses bucking people until later; and even then, Dean wasn’t doing anything but this. He only had the one job.

“Gonna,” he tried again. He didn’t see anyone in the crowd he knew.

He wasn’t that much of an outgoing person, but it wasn’t like him to get stage fright. It was just that this was the first time he’d be singing his newer songs to anyone in public, and that felt a lot like doing a striptease. He wasn’t new to stripping his clothes for a crowd, but he sure as hell was new to stripping his soul.

It was easier when the music was about God. Now he looked back, most of those songs were generic; he’d never put much into it besides making the words rhyme.

“Hey, uh, buddy?” the overhead crackled, Gabriel’s voice rebounding across the stage. “Think we could pick up the pace a little? If you need someone to light a fire under your ass, I got a fine shiny blowtorch stashed somewhere in my trailer.”

The crowd tittered, and Dean gave a nervous grin. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said into the microphone. He cleared his throat.

He started strumming, just random tune. He played out an old instrumental from Heaven Falling’s unreleased demo, just to get going. He got a scattered cheer, one person holding up a lighter and waving it slowly. He winked at them, then ended the song.

He cleared his throat again.

He may as well just do it. It was going to happen anyway. “All right, folks, that was, uh, something old; let’s treat you to something new now, how ‘bout that?”

Whistles; someone at the back yelled “Yeah!”

He picked up the rhythm, toe-tapping the stage, got a few people clapping before the first line. By the time he was halfway through the song, singing out, “ _Find this time you gotta walk you own way, now it’s dark, it’s daaa-ark―_ ” the whole crowd was snapping their hands in time, Stetsons bobbing.

If he ever lost the rhythm, he’d find it again in the crowd. That was how he worked, that was how his mom taught him to work. Live, breathe, entertain the crowd. Their hands, their boots to the dirt - when he was on stage, their rhythm became his heartbeat.

He got through four songs before he had to ask Gabriel to bring him some water, and Gabriel threw down the bottle and had the crowd ferry it, the blue plastic essentially crowd-surfing over to him. Dean drank half the bottle at once, thanked everyone, then sang another song.

The audience liked it. It was their kind of music in any case - local, live, from the mouth of someone they already adored. It was undemanding for him. By the time he was most of the way through, he was just thinking, there was only one thing that could make this better.

Dean opened his mouth to begin another song, when a whistle sounded through the overhead. Dean suffered a double-take, and looked up into the bleachers where Gabriel and Sam were sitting. Sam took the microphone from Gabriel, coughing softly.

“Heya, Sammy, what’s up?” Dean asked, eyes on the bleachers with his mouth to his microphone. “You gonna make some smart-mouthed announcement? We gotta dock Gabe’s pay if that’s the case, he ain’t pullin’ his weight.”

The crowd murmured a laugh; they’d laugh at anything he said, funny or not. There had to be something psychologically valid in that, Dean mused.

“No, it’s just,” Sam said, then paused, and Dean knew he was just uncomfortable with having his speaking voice broadcast. “You got a text message.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well gee, thanks, can it wait until _after_ the show?”

“Uhhh, no, not really.”

Dean leant his forehead on the microphone. “Well go ahead then, shoot.”

“It’s from Castiel. With a heart next to his name.”

The crowd went “ _Awww_ ”.

Dean scowled at them, then at Sam. “You absolutely sure this can’t wait until after the show?”

Sam laughed. “The message reads―” he laughed again. “Hey! Who wants me to read this out?”

The crowd whooped, cheering affirmatives. Dean told them to shut up, and they just cheered louder.

Sam cleared his throat once more. “Okay, here we go. Message from Castiel, the Holy Tax Accountant. Quote: ‘I’m in the crowd’, unquote.”

Dean perked up, almost unbalancing his stool as he stood up, microphone in hand, guitar hanging on the strap around his shoulders. “Cas?” He set a hand over his eyes, scouring the sea of faces. “Cas, raise your hand or somethin’, I can’t see you.”

The audience started looking around, searching for a raised hand.

Dean saw it, right up by the stage. His eyes followed the arm down, landed on that beautiful lightly-tanned face, crystalline blue eyes as deep and endless as the sky had been in the day, the peppered jaw and pink grooved lips - with a smile on them, despite their strangely flat line. He was wearing his tan trenchcoat, Dean’s cowboy hat, and a t-shirt with a stencilled winged cat on it.

“Cas,” Dean breathed.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. Dean didn’t hear him, he just saw his mouth move.

Dean walked to the front of the stage and lay down on his stomach so he could be face-to-face with Castiel. Microphone held far away from his mouth, he grinned.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel smiled. He glanced up, his eyelids fluttered, then he looked back to Dean. “We’re on the big screen. There are about five hundred people watching us.”

“Three hundred.”

Castiel swallowed. “A lot of people.”

Dean’s eyes roamed Castiel face, taking in the tiny cuts that littered his cheeks, the red mark down one of his lips. “You look like Hell spat you back out.”

“You look like you just tumbled out of Heaven,” Castiel said right back, smirking.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean asked, breath catching. It was all he’d been able to think about for a month: Castiel’s kisses, his touches, the way he said his name - both in speech and in the midst of his sexual passion. His kisses summed up that whole night they spent talking, everything they shared.

Castiel glanced to the big screen again, then to Dean’s lips. He didn’t give Dean an answer, just leaned in and sealed their lips like a deal.

Dean tilted his head, almost oblivious to the sound the crowd made. The people closest to them were smiling, laughing, some of them taking pictures.

Castiel broke the kiss with fingers, fingertips scattering between their lips, touching Dean’s mouth. Their eyes stayed low, half-closed as the two of them felt shadowed over, covered in their own private universe which everyone else went about their own lives without seeing them.

Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, he considered that the cowboy hat not only suited Cas, but the sight of him wearing it also kind of turned Dean on a little. And oh boy, did Dean see them playing with that. Directions, possibilities, potential. More chances for Dean to show off his collection of panties. And through all of that, he knew there was nobody he would be more comfortable sharing that with than Cas.

“How did you get here?” Dean asked, trailing fingers down Cas’ cheek.

“I took a bus,” Castiel said, in a way that implied he took a near-apocalyptic level of issue with the fact.

Dean just shook his head fondly, unable to resist as he leaned in to press their noses together, turning for another kiss. They fit easily, familiar but still new; there was still a long way to go to really be familiar.

“I’m all me this time,” Castiel said, his deep voice a rumble in Dean’s bones. He slid a hand around the back of Dean’s neck, putting a soft kiss to his ear. “Not a bloodsucking estate agent. I’m homeless, unemployed, and I have no bed to sleep in tonight.”

“Just so happens I’ve got half a bed and a whole lotta family to share,” Dean offered. “No bulls or bullshit in sight, not now, nor any time in the future.”

“That sounds appropriate,” Castiel said. “I accept.” He smiled at Dean, eyes lit like stars. “I’ll see you after the show.”

With a smile the size of Texas itself, Dean crawled back up to his feet, microphone flip-flopping in his dextrous hand. He tried to say something to the crowd, but all that came out was an extended “Uhhh,” and a massive grin that left him biting his lip.

The crowd were cat-calling like crazy. Dean felt their whoops and cheers the same way he’d felt their thumps through the ground; they were happy, he was happy; Cas was _here_ , Cas was safe. Cas was happy, too.

Dean knew what he wanted to sing. Sometimes it was just _obvious_.

Dean’s heart was filled with songs, and not all of them were his own this time.

Some of them were Castiel’s.

“So, um, I’m gonna sing one last thing, then I gotta call it a night―” the crowd groaned, “but this one’s extra special. I didn’t write it, I’m just borrowing it. I think y’all know the words to the chorus.”

He picked up his guitar, raising the microphone support so he could stand as he played. With his eyes on Castiel, he released the first rough chords into the air.

The crowd started their claps, he nodded along, pursing his lips.

“ _[Well I guess it would be nice - if I could touch your body - I know not evvvv’rybody has got a body like you―](https://www.box.com/s/4lpdgufkefu8217ciq1p)_ ”

Dean winked at Castiel, and Castiel winked back, very deliberately, like he was trying to work out how to do it. Dean tipped his head at him in a quick gesture, already on the next line; “ _But I've gotta think twice - Before I - give my heart away - And I know all the games you play - because I play them too-oo..._ ”

Dean’s feet were sliding on the floorboards, dancing small, dancing gently, but dancing nonetheless. He tapped his toes, grinning. “ _Oooohhhh but I, need some time off - from that eeemotiooon - Time to pick my heart up off the floooo-or! And when that love comes down without deeevooootion - Well it takes a strong man, baby! But I'm showing - you - the door!_ ”

Dean knocked the stool back with his foot, singing out the words breathy, passionate; “ _‘Cause I gotta have faith... I gotta have faa-aith - Because I gotta have faith, I gotta have faith’a-faith’a-faith―_ ”

~

“Do you think he gets it?” Gabriel asked, leaning over the back of the bleachers and flicking his eyes from Dean on the stage to Missouri, who sat quietly behind him. “The whole faith thing? I mean, we weren’t exactly subtle.”

Missouri sighed, knitting her fingers together on her lap. “You can tell that boy one thing about faith, and all he’ll take away from it is that someone else is messing with his life,” she said, somewhat sadly.

“Yeah.” Gabriel’s lips pinched, and he glanced to Sam, who looked back at him. “But that’s exactly what we did. Match made in Heaven, right?”

Sam shrugged. “Call it divine intervention, he’ll call it matchmaking. Not everything is calculable. Car crashes, for one thing.”

Gabriel hummed thoughtfully. “That reminds me, someone needs to give the kid in the truck stop a raise. Maybe pay him in candy.”

“That’s cheating,” Sam said, crossing his arms.

“What, like _you_ could use your sassy angelic powers to morph into preteens?!”

“I’m human!”

Gabriel smirked. “And you’re cute. For a human.”

Sam tried not to smile, he really did. Missouri just rolled her eyes and watched the show.

Any way she looked at it, in whichever direction their story had played itself out, the fact of the matter was that some people were just _made_ for each other. Whatever roads they took, whatever ways their lives connected, it would always come to this.

Dean and Castiel were two of those fated people, and be it in this universe or the next...

They’d be together in the end.

**_Yeah, I gotta have faith - faith - faith―_**

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of see this story as the flipside of [Try-Something Tuesday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/757965). That story was about kind-hearted darlings who want to stay put, whereas Cowboys and Real Estate Angels is about stuck liars who want to leave. (I dunno, man. They're just two assbutts in love, what can I say?)
> 
>  **Edit January 2017:** [Fanart for this fic](http://cassammydean.tumblr.com/post/154948800416/commission-i-bought-for-the-wonderful-elmie) by Rolic, commissioned by my friend Roo! (NSFW warning, Dean and Cas in their underwear)


End file.
